#but out of pure emotion and hopefulness and happiness

[7-deadly-cats]

fuck valentine's day

genre: one shot, angst but happy ending, no explicit smut

pairing: taken!s4!rafe cameron x fem!bsf!reader

cw: strong language, angst but happy ending, suggestive language, major argument, mention of substance abuse (alcohol and coke), emotional distress, toxic relationship (not with you tho hihihi) and manipulation, brief mention of physical violence (just a punch), mildly suggestive scenes and hint of intimacy but no explicit smut, my reccomendation: 16+

summary: After the death of Ward Cameron, Rafe starts to reclaim his life, becoming more grounded and family-oriented. However, his close friendship with you slowly crumbles after Sabrina, his seemingly perfect girlfriend, enters the picture. You, grappling with suppressed feelings for Rafe, try to step back, but Sabrina's manipulative nature causes tensions to rise. On a stormy Valentine’s Day, a broken-down car leads to an unexpected confrontation between Rafe and you where emotions spill over. As truths are revealed, your complicated relationship takes an intense and transformative turn, forcing both to confront what you truly mean to each other.

word count: 8.3k

a/n: this is the most i've ever written in ONE day (yes i spent the whole valentine's day writing this lmao) and i put my whole soul into it, and i know it's LONG but i promise i tried my best to make it work. so anyway happy very late valentine's day to everyone, hope you enjoy this little one shot <3 maybe it's a little cheesy, cringe and cliche (especially at the end) but i guess that's what this day is about. and i really enjoyed writing it hihhi + would love to hear your thoughts on this one (would mean a lot)

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Ward Cameron’s death was, in your eyes, the best thing that could’ve ever happened to Rafe. He was finally free from the toxic relationship with his father. Free from years of manipulation, being pushed around, and constant disregard.

Of course, it hadn’t happened overnight. The first step had been taken long before Ward’s death, back when he fell into a coma and Rafe was suddenly thrust into the role of being the man of the house. It was during that time Rafe realized the family and their business could function without Ward Cameron at the helm.

Ward’s death was simply the final key that unlocked Rafe’s cage. And as he let go of his father, he also let go of a significant part of his old life.

He became more grounded, business-minded, and above all, family-oriented. He kept talking about fixing things with Sarah and pulling Wheezie away from Rose’s grip.

Rafe Cameron genuinely wanted to become a better man.

Watching him finally blossom as a person was so incredibly beautiful to witness. And yet, it shattered your heart into a thousand pieces knowing you weren’t the one standing by his side as it happened.

Sure, you had been there for him during his darkest, most destructive moments. You had stayed by his side when he said and did things that were nearly impossible to take back. He had hurt people close to him—you included—and yet, you had never left.

Deep down, you knew that underneath all the frustration and rage was a broken boy who just craved love and recognition. And no one had ever given him the chance to show that part of himself.

That’s exactly why you'd never dared to confess your feelings to him. He deserved love but there had never been a time when he was truly ready for a serious relationship.

Telling him about your feelings, purely out of selfishness, would’ve led to one of two outcomes: either an unstable relationship where he clung to the idea of being loved without genuinely loving you back, or the deterioration of your friendship due to his fear of commitment.

So, you suppressed your thoughts, feelings, and the love you held for him. You preferred to love him from afar as your best friend rather than risk dragging him into a formless relationship during his unstable state.

Tragically, that mindset became deeply ingrained in your brain. Even after Ward’s death, when Rafe visibly began to change for the better and showed clear signs of looking for something serious, you stayed silent. Not out of fear of losing him but out of sheer stubbornness, waiting for the “right moment.”

And that hesitation cost you your chance: another girl got there first and won Rafe’s heart.

Sabrina Anderson—he met her at a charity gala. She was stunningly beautiful, wealthy, had an excellent academic background, and everything about her screamed “old money.” She was the picture-perfect Kook girlfriend.

Everything Rafe thought he wanted in a woman.

And, for fuck’s sake, it felt like the universe was punishing you for your patience. Normally, you would’ve accompanied Rafe to his important events as his support but this one time, this one fucking time, you had canceled because you’d promised Topper you’d help him move into his stupid new place (yeah, he had finally gotten his act together and left his toxic family’s home). And like the idiot you were, you completely forgot the gala was happening that day.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. You know I usually write this stuff down in my calendar but I must’ve missed it somehow,” you said the night before the gala while helping him pick the perfect outfit.

Rafe just waved it off with a cheeky grin as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll survive one evening without your bad jokes and complaining about the tiny dessert portions.”

“They are tiny portions. I think they’re expecting a bunch of kids as guests,” you retorted, your eyes flickering briefly to his sun-kissed, bare chest. You quickly averted your gaze and handed him a new shirt. “I think this one works better. Next time, I’ll be there—promise. Even if Topper’s new place is on fire.”

Rafe nodded, amused, as he slipped on the new shirt. “That’s not even unlikely with his mom around. That woman’s straight-up on ‘psycho mom marries son’ type shit.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “Don’t say that—next thing you know, it’ll be on TLC or some other trash TV channel.”

And so, you spent the rest of the evening together.

Rafe tried on a few more suits, all of which looked amazing on him (and in every single one of them, you wanted to rip the clothes right off him, though you'd never say that out loud). You baked a pizza together, watched some movies in his bed, and every time you showed him one of your dumb, brain-rotting reels, he rolled his eyes—but every so often, he sent you one of his own because, deep down, he probably loved how much they made you laugh.

At some point, you fell asleep in his bed, and Rafe brought you an extra blanket. The next morning, he drove you home and wished you luck at Topper’s move.

Had you known that would be the last night the two of you could act like that, you would’ve told him everything.

But how could you have known that the next night, a new girl would enter his life? How could you have known that Sabrina Anderson would sweep him off his feet in a way you never could? And how could you have predicted that she would endanger your entire friendship so deeply that within a few months, you and Rafe were little more than acquaintances?

At first, everything seemed fine. Rafe told you about the gala, about Sabrina, and about how perfect she was. Of course, it broke your heart, but the way he spoke about her helped heal it again because he was genuinely smitten with her.

They started texting, going on dates, and Rafe did things for her he’d never done for anyone else. He bought her the most beautiful flowers, spoiled her with the most expensive jewelry, and gave everything to be a good boyfriend.

And so, their relationship grew more serious, and eventually, he introduced her to you, Topper, and Kelce at a party at Tannyhill.

That’s when everything went downhill.

Topper and Kelce obviously thought she was hot, of course—those idiots were just guys, after all. They couldn’t see past her perfectly shaped breasts and the cute ass hidden under a stylish dress.

But for you, alarm bells were ringing. Something about Sabrina just felt... off. Sure, she was incredibly sweet and nice but whenever she looked at you, there was something darker lurking beneath her gaze.

You dismissed it immediately, assuming you were just biased because of your own feelings for Rafe. A part of you simply couldn’t accept that another woman was making him happy.

Besides, you were still his best friend. You’d been through thick and thin together, and nothing could tear the two of you apart. Not even a girlfriend.

Sure, Sabrina would be part of everything from now on but the chemistry between you and Rafe... that was something special, and even an idiot could see it.

So it wasn’t entirely surprising when Sabrina cornered you in the kitchen later that night, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Oh, hey, Y/N. Needed a little breather too?”

You were pouring yourself another drink, and even though she gave you a weird feeling, you smiled back at her. “Yeah, when Kelce DJs, it tends to get loud.”

Sabrina nodded in agreement but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “True. Rafe seems to have some... interesting friends.”

The way she said it, while looking directly at you, should’ve been enough for you to go straight to Rafe and tell him something about Sabrina wasn’t right. But you just shrugged as you added vodka to your cup. “Kelce’s a bit weird but he’s cool once you get to know him. And Topper’s always reliable when it counts.”

“And you?” Her innocent look didn’t match her tone.

You raised your eyebrows slightly. “What about me?”

“When Rafe mentioned he had a girl best friend, I didn’t think that...” She paused, tilting her head with a bemused smile. “Well, you know, that she was his ex.”

What the fuck?

Your eyebrows shot up, and you shook your head in confusion. “I’m not his ex. Where did you get that from?”

Sabrina let out a soft giggle, as if your reaction was overly dramatic. “You don’t have to get so defensive. I just thought, well, you two seem so close, and the way you look at him... it’s only natural I’d have a few concerns, right?”

You shook your head again, though you couldn’t stop the faint blush creeping across your cheeks. “We’re just friends, Sabrina. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“So... just to be clear, you two never had anything? You know, slept with each other or something?” She still wore that fake innocent smile.

What a bitch.

“No, of course not,” you replied dryly. “It’s always been purely platonic between me and Rafe.”

Sabrina let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, that’s a relief. Then I guess you’re basically like a little sister to him.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean. You shrugged. “I guess."

This time, Sabrina’s gaze darkened, though her facade still didn’t slip. “Good. I mean, I’d just like to think siblings behave a little more... appropriately.”

You only smiled in response but in that moment, the first brick of a massive wall between you and Rafe had been laid.

Because deep down, as much as it ate at you, Sabrina was right. It had never been an issue before if you shared a bed with him, wore his clothes, kissed him during one of Kelce’s stupid Truth or Dare games, or hung on him like a lovesick monkey when you got too drunk.

You had been both single and the flirty banter between you had always been just that—a few dumb words or gestures, nothing more.

But now Rafe had a girlfriend. He was taken. And all those things were no longer okay. And even though he was your best friend and hadn’t yet drawn those boundaries for the sake of his new relationship, you did.

At first, it was a slow process. Movie nights turned into movie afternoons, and instead of laying in his bed, you suggested the couch because it was cozier… right? And even though he still preferred you as his plus one for events, you started declining, insisting Sabrina would probably appreciate it more. Wouldn’t she, Rafe?

You also pulled away from hugs quicker than before, drank less at parties to avoid doing anything dumb around him, and when it came to games like Never Have I Ever or Truth or Dare, you became a mere spectator. What used to be teasing touches were reduced to the bare minimum.

Your friendship began to waver and Sabrina kept Rafe so busy—dragging him from one date to another, satisfying him in ways you could only dream of—that he barely noticed how far the two of you had drifted apart.

Of course, the others around you weren’t stupid. Topper and Kelce immediately noticed the strange new tension between you and Rafe. Even fucking Ruthie, Topper’s girlfriend—and the two of you were definitely not on good terms—pulled you aside one evening.

However, you knew she didn’t do it out of concern for you. No, Ruthie felt threatened by Sabrina’s presence just as much as you did.

“Are you seriously going to let her walk all over you?” she asked, cornering you outside the bathroom at a beach party. “That bitch is a manipulative snake.”

God, you wanted to agree, to vent to Ruthie about how much Sabrina pissed you off. But for Rafe’s sake, you bit back the words and said instead, “If you want, I can let him know how you feel. I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

Ruthie, unimpressed, just smiled. “Oh, please. When’s the last time you two even talked alone?”

That stung because it was true.

Three months into his relationship with Sabrina, she’d already built a thick wall between you and Rafe. These days, you only saw each other at parties or when the group hung out—and even then, getting a private moment with him was rare. Sabrina clung to him like a shadow, always watching, always there. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done something together, just the two of you. He barely seemed to have time for anyone else anymore, not even you.

And that was the problem. Rafe was so terrified of letting this chance at a “perfect” future with someone slip away that he clung to Sabrina just as tightly as she clung to him. Because even though Ward Cameron was no longer alive, one thing had stuck with Rafe: the idea of family.

That was what Ward had valued above all else, and Rafe thought he’d finally found that dream with Sabrina Anderson.

And even though it tore you apart, even though it cost you sleepless, tear-filled nights, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him about it. It was so incredibly wrong and cowardly, especially because you KNEW what kind of person Sabrina was. You KNEW that, eventually, her controlling nature would probably drive a wedge between Rafe and the rest of the group—Topper, Kelce, everyone. But in that moment, he seemed happy.

And you couldn’t be the one to take that happiness away from him, even if it meant losing him in the process.

It was unbelievably stupid, and deep down, you knew he deserved better. But the real problem wasn’t Sabrina—it was you.

No matter who stood at Rafe’s side, any girl would have reacted the same way Sabrina did. Maybe they wouldn’t have been as cunning about it, but no girl would have been okay with the bond you shared with Rafe. Some might’ve confronted him directly, others might’ve gone after you like Sabrina had, and some would’ve just given up and broken things off immediately.

And Rafe had realized that too, in his own way. The connection between you and him... it wasn’t a normal “best friends” kind of thing. You were probably the most important person in his life—until Sabrina showed up. But Rafe had been too blind, too scared, to admit it to himself.

Or worse, to admit it to you.

Because the truth was, Rafe had feelings for you. He wasn’t stupid—how could he not have fallen for you? You’d stood by him during his darkest moments, even when he confessed to you about killing Peterkin. Hell, you would’ve followed him to Barbados if he hadn’t insisted you stay behind, where you’d be safe.

But Rafe also knew how messed up he was. He knew there was something deeply wrong with him. He was loud, impulsive, and reckless. At his worst, he’d nearly been willing to kill Sarah and his own father.

Rafe Cameron was a deeply unstable wreck and the last thing he wanted was to drag you down with him.

You deserved someone better. Someone kind and loving, someone who didn’t have anger issues or a fucked-up mind like his. Someone who knew their limits and respected others’.

God, how many times had he sat next to you at parties, with you drunk or high, leaning against him, your big, tired eyes looking up at him like he was the only person in the world that mattered? It had taken every ounce of self-control not to press his lips to yours right then and there, to carry you upstairs to his bed and forget about the party downstairs.

And the worst part? The thought of all the times you’d actually fallen asleep next to him in his bed. How badly he’d wanted you then—to kiss you, to love you, to feel you. Not in the way he'd done with random hookups in the past. God, no. What he felt for you ran so much deeper, more primal, than that. It was like hunger, like thirst. He didn’t just want you. He needed you—every piece of you, your whole being.

So, as time passed and you remained distant, Rafe Cameron broke under the weight of the wall between you.

But while you hid away in your room, drowning yourself in movies, shows, mindless phone games, loud music, and lonely nights, Rafe fell back into old habits.

Not all at once, but slowly—quietly—in a way that would destroy him eventually. More empty whiskey bottles started showing up around the house. The occasional bag of coke appeared in his drawers again. And when he came home from parties with Sabrina, it was rarely without a bruise or a bloody nose.

And when he fucked her afterward, it wasn’t out of love. It was out of frustration and anger—anger at himself for losing you. And every time a soft moan left Sabrina’s lips, it wasn’t her he thought of.

It was you.

Of course, you heard about all of this—not because you were there to witness his behavior (you avoided any place Rafe might show up these days) but through Topper and Kelce. They’d call or text you constantly, begging you to make up with Rafe. Because it wasn’t just you they were losing from the group—it was him too.

One night, Rafe even punched Topper, giving him a bloody nose, after Topper had the guts to bring up the whole situation. It wasn’t the complaints about Sabrina that set Rafe off—no, it was when your beautiful name had left Topper's lips.

Because Topper was right: Rafe had screwed it all up.

But he was too angry, too broken, to believe he could ever fix things with you.

Of course, he was Rafe Cameron. If Sabrina actually broke up with him, he’d just find someone else—at least, that’s what he had told himself for a while. But whether it was out of habit, some deeper fear, or simply the thought of losing someone again, he couldn’t deny it: he didn’t want to lose her. So, when Sabrina made it clear she was serious this time, he tried to do better.

Especially because deep down, Rafe wasn’t sure if he had the energy—or the patience—to let someone new get that close again.

No, he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t.

And what better day to secure her forever than Valentine’s Day?

Rafe wasn’t exactly a romantic but for this occasion, he had it all planned out: He’d take Sabrina out, spoil her with whatever she wanted, treat her like royalty. Dinner at the most expensive, exclusive restaurant, a private balcony lit by candlelight. Then, when they got back to Tannyhill, he’d carry her inside, through a house decorated with rose petals, scented candles, and heart-shaped balloons.

He’d take her to their shared bedroom, hold her close, and tell her how much he loved her—that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. And then, he’d drop to one knee, pull out the most extravagant, glamorous ring she could dream of, and ask her to marry him. He figured she’d probably say yes. After all, despite everything, she knew Rafe would do anything to keep her, and being a Cameron opened doors that her own name couldn’t.

And later, as he bent her over in the rose-adorned bed, he’d remind her how perfect she was. Though in truth, he’d be convincing himself that losing you had at least brought him this.

But, as if the universe was punishing him for his past and future mistakes, the weather had other plans. A torrential downpour hit the island, complete with strong winds and relentless rain. Leaving the house was impossible—any attempt would’ve ended in getting drenched or worse, an accident.

So, Rafe had no choice but to scrap his grand plans and stay at Tannyhill with Sabrina. Unfortunately, he’d already teased her days in advance about the “special surprises” he had in store.

In short: Sabrina wasn’t happy. She was upset about the weather, frustrated that Rafe’s plans had fallen through, and irritated with him by association.

It took everything Rafe had to hold his temper and avoid a full-blown argument. But he was determined not to screw this up. He cooked for her, gave her massages, played the music she liked, and later that evening, he drew her a luxurious bath to unwind.

That seemed to calm her, at least a little.

So, while Rafe stayed inside, trying to salvage the day, you were spending your Valentine’s with your grandmother. (It wasn’t like you had a date anyway, so why celebrate it?) She lived about an hour outside the Outer Banks, and you’d spent the day catching up with her, enjoying the quiet.

But as someone who rarely paid attention to her phone nowadays and definitely didn’t check the weather, you had no idea about the storm brewing in the area.

It wasn’t until you started your drive home that you realized just how bad it was. The rain came down in sheets, so thick it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The roads were slippery, the wind was howling, and you found yourself gripping the wheel tighter than ever.

“Okay,” you told yourself, “just go slow. Better to get home late than not at all.”

That was the plan, anyway—until your dad’s expensive Bentley decided to give up on you in the middle of an empty back road. No houses nearby, no streetlights, and definitely no one around to help.

You sighed, muttering a curse under your breath. Okay, it’s fine. Probably just a fluke. You tried turning the key in the ignition again. Then again. And again. Nothing.

Alright, not so fine.

Panic began creeping in but you forced yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t fix the car, and stepping out in this weather wasn’t an option. Your only choice was to call someone for help.

Your grandmother was already asleep by now and you didn’t want to worry her. Your parents were out of town for the weekend, so they were off the table, too. That left Kelce and Topper.

You tried Topper first but he sent you straight to voicemail. You were pretty sure Ruthie had something to do with that. Kelce picked up but the loud music and slurred tone on the other end told you he was having way too much fun at some club to be of any use.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

You scrolled through your contacts but nobody else seemed like a good option. Sure, you had other friends from your years at high school but who would actually drive half an hour in this weather on Valentine's Day just to pick you up?

Your thumb hovered over Rafe’s name. Your chest tightened.

The Rafe you used to know would’ve come for you in a heartbeat—rain, wind, storm, volcano, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve been there, no questions asked. But now? You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and you weren’t even sure if he still had your number saved.

Besides, you didn’t want to ruin his Valentine’s with Sabrina. Topper had mentioned things were rocky between them for a while but apparently, Rafe had gotten things back on track.

So, that left… what? Spending the night in the car and hoping Kelce or Topper would sober up enough to rescue you in the morning? Not exactly ideal.

You glanced around nervously. You didn’t know this area well and the heavy rain pounding against the roof wasn’t helping your growing unease. It was dark, the only light coming from your phone which was now dangerously low on battery.

Great, you thought, sinking back into the seat. Just perfect.

Yeah, fuck, you were scared.

You bit the inside of your cheeks, your fingers hovering over Rafe's number. He probably wouldn’t even pick up—most likely cuddled up with Sabrina on the couch.

He’s not going to answer anyway, you thought to yourself, swallowing the lump of guilt forming in your throat. Then, you hit call.

Not even two rings later, he answered. “Y/N?” His voice sounded confused but also alert.

A lump formed in your throat at the sound of his familiar voice and only then did you realize how much you’d hoped he would actually answer.

“Rafe…” Your voice was quiet, slightly shaky, given the situation you were in. “I... I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s Valentine’s Day, and I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t—”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His tone shifted immediately, sharper now, filled with concern.

“Yes! No! I mean… no,” you stammered, struggling to get the words out. “I was just at my grandma’s, and my dad’s Bentley broke down. I already tried calling Kelce and Topper, but—”

“Where are you?” he interrupted, and your heart clenched.

“Rafe, you don’t have to—I just thought maybe—”

“Y/N.” His voice was firm now, leaving no room for argument. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

You hesitated, then muttered, “I really don’t want to ruin your Valentine’s Day.”

“Fuck Valentine’s Day,” Rafe said, frustration in his voice but also unmistakable concern. “Send me your location, and tomorrow morning I’ll beat the shit out of Kelce and Topper for not answering.”

Despite the tension of the situation, despite the fear and guilt gnawing at you, a laugh escaped your lips. For a moment, you paused, then sent him your live location.

“I’ll be there soon. Stay in the car, lock the doors, and don’t open up for anyone,” he instructed.

You barely managed to thank him before he hung up. And despite the guilt weighing heavy on you, an immense wave of relief washed over you.

Rafe was in his closet, pulling out two jackets and a hoodie, when Sabrina walked out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed pink from the steam and a towel barely wrapped around her, exposing her still-damp legs.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m picking up Y/N,” he said, slipping on one of the jackets. “Her car broke down in the middle of nowhere.”

A flush of red rose to Sabrina’s pretty face, her brow furrowing deeply. “And she called you?”

Rafe shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “No one else picked up. I’ll be back in an hour—”

“Are you serious, Rafe?” Her voice sharpened, rising in pitch. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re driving out in this weather for HER, but you couldn’t even take me to dinner in town?”

Rafe grimaced, but his voice remained calm. “Like I said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

Sabrina scoffed, crossing her arms. “A big deal? You think I am the one being dramatic? Y/N is a grown woman. She knows we’re spending this evening together, and she still called you?”

"She called because she needs help, not because she’s trying to ruin your night or some shit," Rafe said, his tone making it clear she was being ridiculous. Still, he didn’t want to push her any further. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Look, baby—”

But Sabrina just shook her head in irritation. “My night? What’s that supposed to mean?! This is our night, Rafe. And now you’re ditching our night for her?!” She stepped closer, her voice rising. “I’ve always known she was a threat to our relationship.”

“A threat?” Rafe raised his brows in disbelief as he stood. “Come on, Sabrina, that’s insane. Just drop this bullshit.”

Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “I—excuse me? Do you even hear yourself right now? She hasn’t called you in weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And the second she does, you’re running off like some pathetic, lovesick puppy? It’s so embarrassing. For you, and for me.”

It took everything Rafe had to keep from completely losing it. Her words hit a nerve, and deep down, he knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. You had pulled away from him—hell, both of you had.

His blood was boiling, but all he could think about was you, sitting alone in that damn car in this awful weather.

Rafe took a step toward her, towering over her. Maybe he could control his words but he couldn't control his voice, now loud and frustrated. “Tell me then, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh?! Leave her stranded out there all by herself?”

Sabrina nodded as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She’ll figure it out, it’s just one night and—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” His voice was dangerously calm now. “Pack your things and get the fuck out of my house.”

For a moment, Sabrina stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Rafe said, his gaze cold and full of suppressed disdain. “Get dressed and leave.”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’re being crazy, you—”

“If you’re not out the door in five minutes, I’ll make sure to throw you out myself.”

Sabrina blinked, her face twisting in disbelief. “You can’t just kick me out. It’s pouring outside, Rafe—it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Unbothered, Rafe shrugged, mimicking her earlier words. “You’re a grown woman. You’ll figure it out.”

And as the leech that called herself Sabrina Anderson finally disappeared from Tannyhill, Rafe climbed into his SUV and took off.

His chest felt tight, his mind racing, yet at the same time, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. You were the only thing on his mind right now. He didn’t even try to put into words the heavy, suffocating feeling that lingered.

He’d messed up again—this time with Sabrina. But there was no regret, no sadness, nothing. If anything, it felt good to finally be rid of her. It wasn’t until halfway through the drive that he realized how much of a blind idiot he’d been. On some subconscious level, he’d been waiting for a moment like this, a reason to cut her out of his life.

For the first time in months, he could breathe freely, without her breathing down his neck. And as the last few months replayed in his mind, it hit him—she’d been a parasite, manipulating him, controlling him, molding him to fit her needs. Maybe he’d known all along but he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Breaking free from her was almost as hard as breaking free from his father. And, apart from Topper—who’d earned himself a punch to the face—no one had called him out. No one had tried to wake him up.

Not even you.

He shook off the thoughts as he spotted the silhouette of a dark car up ahead. His heart sank, thinking about how you must be feeling—completely alone on that pitch-black road.

Pulling up behind the Bentley, he grabbed the umbrella and jacket he’d thrown onto the passenger seat and stepped out into the pouring rain.

The umbrella didn’t do much—his jeans were soaked through almost immediately. But he didn’t care. He knocked on your car door, and the look of relief on your face when you unlocked and opened it almost made his chest ache.

Then he noticed the redness in your eyes and a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. “You okay? Here, take the jacket.”

Shivering, you hesitated but took it anyway, the relief coursing through your body almost enough to keep you warm.

“Rafe…” you started as you stepped under his umbrella but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his hand resting gently on your back. “Let’s get you out of this weather.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine but you didn’t argue. You hurried with him to his SUV and he opened the door for you, waiting to make sure you were inside before tossing the umbrella into the backseat and climbing in himself.

For a moment, the only sound was the pounding rain against the roof. Rafe gestured to the hoodie on the dashboard. “Put that on—you’re just in shorts.”

Still, you hesitated. It felt wrong somehow. The familiar scent of his car—of him—was already too much.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He grabbed the hoodie and draped it over your bare knees. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You didn’t know what to think or say. Rafe had come out here for you in this weather, left Sabrina behind, and… while you were endlessly grateful, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As he started the car and pulled back onto the road, the guilt churned in your chest again. “Rafe, I’m really sorry. If I’d known it was raining like this, I would’ve stayed at my grandma’s, I—”

“Drop it,” Rafe cut in, his eyes fixed on the road. “You needed help, and I came. That’s all there is to it.”

You glanced at him, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his profile seemed sharper in the dim light. Hesitantly, you asked, “And Sabrina… how mad is she?”

It surprised you that she hadn’t insisted on coming along.

“She’s gone,” he said, still staring straight ahead.

Your heart sank to your stomach. “Gone? I… what do you mean, gone?”

“I threw her out.” His tone was blunt, almost defiant. He finally looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. “What—why? What happened? Is it because I called? I—”

“Because she’s a fucking bitch,” Rafe cut in flatly. He dragged a hand down his face before turning back to you, his tone softening as he caught the shock in your eyes. “I should’ve done it a long time ago. I just… I was too blinded by all her fake bullshit.”

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of his hoodie on your lap, your thoughts spiraling. “Rafe, I’m really—”

“No, Y/N,” he interrupted again, his brows pulling together. “I swear to God, if you say you’re sorry one more time, I’ll throw you out too.” There wasn’t an ounce of seriousness in his voice, though. He sighed heavily, the frustration evident. “It’s all just… so fucked. Everything about this. It pisses me off. I really thought she was the one, and I was so blind to all her flaws.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Jesus, Y/N, why didn’t you say something?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he shot back, the frustration he’d been holding back now bubbling to the surface. “It’s obvious she came between us. I was too stupid—fuck, I was too into her to see it. But you…” His voice faltered, and he seemed to collect himself. “You’re not stupid. You’re always the first one to spot red flags in people. Hell, even Topper eventually figured it out.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let her play her stupid little games?”

You couldn’t tell if he was angry at you, Sabrina, himself, the situation, or all of it combined. “I…” But what could you say without revealing too much? “I thought she made you happy and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”

“Bullshit.” The sharpness in his tone made you flinch. “You were my best friend. You’ve never had a problem speaking your mind when something bothered you. And now you’re telling me you let that bitch silence you?”

There it was—you were his best friend. Hearing it from his mouth shattered something deep inside you that you thought was already broken.

“That bitch, Rafe,” you snapped, a sharp edge creeping into your own voice, “was your girlfriend, just so you know. So, yeah, fine, I’ll admit it—when you first introduced her, every alarm bell in my head went off. Is that what you want to hear? I knew, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Boo-fucking-hoo. But you know what? You let it happen just as much as I did.”

And in that moment, you realized just how angry you were at Rafe. Sure, he’d been infatuated but was that really an excuse? He was just as much to blame as you were for all of this.

Rafe scoffed bitterly as he turned onto the main road leading into Figure 8. “I don’t get it. Did she say something to you? Is that why you pulled away? Shit, did she have something on you? Nudes or some shit like that?”

“What? No!” You stared at him, equal parts exhausted and horrified. You were cold, hungry, and overwhelmed by a storm of emotions boiling beneath the surface. You didn’t even know where to start. “Let's drop this, I'm tired. Please just take me home.”

But when he drove past your street without even slowing down, you frowned at him in disbelief. “What--”

“We’re talking this out,” he said flatly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If I drop you off now, nothing’s gonna change, and I’m so done with this shit.”

You opened your mouth to argue but when his tired, frustrated eyes met yours, the words caught in your throat. “Afterward, I’ll drive you home, and you can sulk in peace if you want,” he added, his tone softer but firm.

You stayed silent and turned your gaze out the window. You knew him well enough to realize there was no point in arguing. When Rafe set his mind on something, there was no swaying him.

By the time the SUV pulled up to Tannyhill, the storm had mostly passed, though the occasional raindrop still pattered against the windshield. The two of you climbed out in silence. Despite the light drizzle, Rafe grabbed the umbrella from the backseat and opened it over you both as he walked you to the house.

The door clicked open with a soft push and Rafe let you step inside first. As the door shut behind you and the warm glow of the entryway light filled the space, you were suddenly hit by an overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of unease.

The walls were lined with red heart-shaped balloons. The faint scent of roses lingered in the air, mingled with something sweeter you couldn’t quite place. Blown-out candles dotted every available surface, and the staircase was covered in a delicate carpet of red rose petals leading to the next floor.

It was… perfect.

Your stomach twisted as you took it all in, the earlier argument momentarily forgotten. Still staring at the carefully arranged display, you spoke softly. “You did all this for her?”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. “Shit, I was even gonna propose to her tonight.”

Your heart stopped. A proposal? He’d been that serious about Sabrina? You felt like throwing up. This was all too much to take in.

“I’m glad you called,” he said after a moment, his voice softer this time, carrying an edge of something almost vulnerable.

You pressed your lips together and turned around.

Now, under the bright light, you could finally see just how much this relationship had drained him. The dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his cheekbones stood out more sharply than they should—it all painted a picture of someone who had given too much and gotten nothing in return.

And then the dam broke. All the emotions you’d suppressed over the past few months—the frustration, the sadness, the guilt, and the fear—boiled down into the rawest form of emotion: anger.

“She’s a stupid fucking whore,” was all you managed to get out.

Rafe raised an amused eyebrow, caught off guard by your reaction. “What?”

You shook your head, struggling to put your swirling thoughts into words. “She’s a stupid, arrogant, deceitful, manipulative bitch who doesn't deserve you. I mean, seriously, she ruined this,” you gestured between the two of you, “us. She tore us apart. You were my best friend, Rafe. There were times when we’d spend an entire week together, just the two of us, rotting in bed and sending Kelce and Topper stupid snaps, and then she came along, and… and everything changed overnight.”

Your brows furrowed deeply. “She’s such a disgusting person—no, scratch that—a creature. A monster. On the very first night I met her, she came up to me, and she had the nerve to question my relationship with you. Like, she thought our friendship was too intimate or some bullshit like that. And I don’t know, I guess it got to me. What if she was right? I didn’t want to be the problem. I didn’t want to be a threat to your relationship with her. So, I backed off.”

You groaned, frustration evident in your voice. “God, I could just rip my hair out. I should’ve said something. To her, and especially to you! But I was so afraid that I was wrong about her. That I was blinded by my…” Feelings. You stopped yourself, the word stuck in your throat. “By my worry for you. I mean, at first, it seemed like she was good for you, so I stayed quiet. But by then, the damage was done and…” Your voice softened, almost like a question. “At some point, I thought, maybe if it was so easy to build a wall between us, then maybe our friendship was doomed to fail anyway.”

And there it was. You’d said everything you’d bottled up, and yet, there was still so much left unsaid. But you were exhausted, done with all of this, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath.

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable—was he stunned, irritated, frustrated? You couldn’t tell.

Finally, after a moment of seemingly endless silence, he spoke. “Shit, this bitch has been right all along.”

His words hit you like a lightning strike. Before you could ask him what he meant, Rafe closed the distance between you and his hands cupped your face as he pressed his lips to yours as if they were the only place he ever belonged.

Frozen, overwhelmed, and confused, you stood still as a thousand questions and emotions surged through you. But in that moment, you pushed them all aside and sank into it. Your fingers clung to his shirt, afraid to let go.

His kiss was raw, desperate, hungry as if you were the only thing that could satisfy the emotions he’d been holding back. Rafe’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Every pent-up feeling from the past few weeks poured out through the way his lips moved against yours.

And god, you felt so good. Your soft lips on his, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Shit. Even though he’d had Sabrina beneath him night after night, fucking her mindlessly, in this moment, he felt so endlessly touch-starved.

Not for the empty satisfaction of release, no.

For you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves.

Your lips were swollen from the kiss, and you were too scared and stunned to say anything, afraid that speaking would shatter the moment.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Rafe finally said, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheek, his voice low and raw. “It’s you. It’s always been you, Y/N. Fuck, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was Sabrina or any other brain-dead girl. If you called, I would’ve come running every single time. And I almost lost you because of all her bullshit." He sighed, lowering his eyes for a second, trying to grapple his words. "I think, somewhere in my head, I convinced myself I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better. So I went for girls like Sabrina. Girls who are... Shit, I don’t know, polished and perfect on the outside but completely empty on the inside. The kind of girl I thought I was supposed to be with.

“But she’s not perfect." He scoffed. "Holy shit, not even close. She’s pretentious and selfish, and she made me feel like I had to change just to fit into her world. But you?” He let out a nervous laugh, meeting your eyes again, and there was a vulnerability in his tone that you’d never heard before. “You’ve never wanted me to change. You’ve always let me be ... me—even when I’m a complete fucking idiot. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m not too much. Like I don’t have to prove anything.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, sinking in. Your brain needed a second to fully process everything he’d just said.

His blue eyes bore into your soul as if he were anxiously waiting for your approval as if the way you returned his kiss hadn’t been answer enough. As if your next reaction would determine his entire life.

And then you laughed, a sweet and soft sound escaping your lips, cheeks burning, still hyper-aware of the feel of his lips on yours. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and struggling to find the right words, you let your instincts take over. Your hands softly found his cheeks, pulling him back to your lips.

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He took it as an invitation, wrapping his arms around you completely. His hands slid from your waist down to your hips, then lower. When he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding his neck.

This time, the kiss was slower, deeper—like both of you were trying to savor every second, afraid this moment might slip away the very next.

He pressed you gently against the wall, and the cold surface sent a shiver down your spine.

Your body's reaction made him smile into the kiss before pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “This isn’t exactly the most comfortable spot, huh?”

A soft laugh escaped you. And with that sweet little sound, the last stubborn traces of tension melted away. The days, weeks, months—all those nights spent alone in your bed, frustrated and hurt by this whole... fucked-up, messed-up situation.

And hell, you didn’t have, shit no, you didn’t want to waste a single ounce of energy or thought on that time anymore. So all you said was "Please, I’m used to your lumpy mattress.”

“Yeah?” His eyes sparkled with playful mischief and his hands gave your butt a teasing squeeze. “Well, so far, all you’ve done is sleep in it.”

Heat rushed to your face, and before you could say anything, he adjusted his grip on you, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. Your heart was racing, tumbling over itself in your chest, as he carried you upstairs, his arms steady but his pace a little too eager, a little too desperate, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

When he reached the top, he nudged the door open with his foot, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. No noise, no distractions, just you and him, in the quiet of his room, where nothing else mattered.

He set you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His lips found yours again—not rushed, not frantic, but slow and deliberate, like he was making up for every second you’d been apart.

You felt the weight of it all in every kiss—the weeks, months, maybe even years of feelings neither of you had dared to name. His hands moved over you like he was memorizing you, tracing your body in a way that was equal parts hesitant and hungry, like he didn’t want to scare you but couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your fingers softly moved over his buzzed hair, pulling him closer, and he let out a low, almost broken sound against your lips that sent a shiver through you. His breath was warm as his kisses trailed down your neck, and it was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

That night, the room was filled with quiet laughter and soft murmurs, the sound of his name slipping from your lips like it was meant to. Rafe's touch was gentle but sure, every movement unspoken proof of just how much he'd missed you. The hours blurred together, and for once, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, tangled up and lost in each other like this was where you were always supposed to be.

And even though all of it—the candles, the balloons, the rose petals, a ring that never found its finger—had been meant for a manipulative bitch called Sabrina Anderson, she was already forgotten in both of your heads.

Erased by this moment. By you.

Because, like Valentine’s Days, she had always been all surface: Pretty words, empty gestures, and nothing real beneath it.

And if you both were being honest, this cheesy day was overrated anyway. Like Rafe had said: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

And sometimes, fuck the person you end up confessing your love to at the end of it. Even–and maybe especially–if they were your former best friend.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[nameless-jamie]

Hiiiiii, we got Jamie's birthday, can we get PA's?

Shoebox

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

A/N: I love it! Have been thinking about this hard and wanted to do this in a very emotional way because I felt like PA is a person that wants nobody to know her birthday.

TW: cursing, innuendos, fluff

Jamie Tartt doesn’t remember dates.

He barely remembers his own birthday half the time, much less anyone else’s. Anniversaries? Forget it. Holidays? Only when someone reminds him. It’s never been his thing.

That's why he has Y/N, his personal assistant, to remember them for him.

So when he glances at Y/N’s phone screen—purely by accident, obviously—and sees a message from her mum saying, Happy early birthday, love. Hope you have a lovely day tomorrow—he has to read it twice.

Tomorrow?

His gaze flickers to Y/N, who is sitting on the other end of the couch, legs curled up, scrolling through something on her laptop. She doesn’t react. Doesn’t so much as blink at her phone. No excitement, no mention of plans.

And that’s when Jamie realizes—she’s keeping it a secret. She's keeping her birthday a secret.

He doesn’t understand why. Y/N is the most organized person he knows. She’s the one who reminds him of every single birthday, arranges gifts for his teammates when he forgets, keeps track of every little thing. But her own birthday? She’s just… ignoring it?

Jamie locks his jaw, turning his attention back to the telly, pretending like he didn’t see a thing.

But he did. And now it’s rattling around in his head, sticking there like a song he can’t get rid of.

That night, Jamie lies in bed, staring at the ceiling.

He could just say something.

But if she wanted people to know, she would have told him.

So instead, he does something different—something that makes his heart hammer against his ribs.

He gets up, pulls out the shoebox from the top of his closet, and dumps the contents onto his bed.

A mess of ticket stubs, polaroids, receipts, and random scraps of paper falls out. He sifts through them, picking up a blurry photo of them at a team dinner, a crumpled note she had once left on his gym bag (Don’t be late today, Tartt. I mean it.), a matchday program where she had circled his name in blue ink.

Jamie doesn’t know why he’s kept these things. He’s never been sentimental like that.

But somehow, without even realizing it, he’s been keeping her.

The next day, Jamie acts normal.

Or at least, he tries to.

It’s harder than he expects. Every time he looks at her, he wants to say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pays extra attention—watching for any sign that she might, at the very least, acknowledge her own birthday.

Nothing.

No one at the club knows. No one wishes her. She doesn’t act any different.

And for some reason, it pisses him off.

At lunch, he slides into the seat next to her, nudging her arm. "You, uh, doin’ anything later?"

She shakes her head. "Nah. Just gonna go home."

Jamie frowns. "Borin'. "

She huffs a quiet laugh. "Not everyone needs to be constantly entertained, Jamie."

"Yeah, but—" He stops himself. Shrugs. "Dunno. Just seems like a waste of uhm— day."

She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. "What do you mean? Why are you being weird?"

"I’m not."

"You are."

"Oi, shut up."

She laughs, shaking her head, and Jamie forces himself to act like it’s just another day.

But it isn’t.

That evening, Y/N comes home to find a small, wrapped package sitting on her coffee table.

There’s no note. No indication of who left it.

Frowning, she picks it up, carefully peeling back the paper.

Inside is a shoebox filled with random stuff.

She stills, fingers tracing over the outside of the box, heart pounding for reasons she doesn’t quite understand. Slowly, she skims through the contents—and her breath catches in her throat.

It’s them.

Photo after photo, little notes, ticket stubs from games they attended together, receipts from coffee shops where they’d sat for hours going over Jamie's schedule. There’s a picture of her laughing at something stupid he’d said, a doodle he’d made on a napkin that she had long forgotten about, a torn page from an old match program where he had scribbled, bet you a tenner I score today (and she had, indeed, owed him ten quid after that game).

She swallows hard.

Near the bottom of the box, in Jamie’s unmistakable handwriting, there’s a note.

"Dunno why you don’t tell people it’s your birthday. But I remember things when they matter."

Her breath catches.

Because Jamie Tartt doesn’t remember birthdays. He doesn’t remember dates.

But somehow—somehow—he remembered hers.

The knock on her door comes late.

Too late for anyone but him.

She opens it to find Jamie standing there, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

"Hey."

She blinks at him, still holding the shoebox in her hands. "Jamie, did you—?"

"Like it?" He grins, but there’s something softer behind it. "Spent fuckin’ ages collecting that stuff, y’know."

She lets out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. "Jamie, I—"

"You don’t have to say anythin’," he interrupts, then gestures behind him. "But, uh, you do have to come with me."

She raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

His smirk deepens. "You’ll see."

She should say no. She should protest, tell him she doesn’t want a big deal made out of today.

But she doesn’t.

Because Jamie Tartt, of all people, remembered.

And for once, she thinks, maybe her birthday is something worth celebrating.

Y/N stares at Jamie for a long second, her fingers tightening around the shoebox.

He’s grinning at her like he hasn’t just completely dismantled her entire sense of reality—like he hasn’t just remembered something she never even told him.

She wants to ask how he found out. Wants to ask why he went through the effort when he forgets literally everyone else’s birthdays.

But instead, she exhales, tilts her head, and says, “You’re not gonna tell me where we’re going, are you?”

Jamie smirks. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She doesn’t protest when he leads her outside. Doesn’t roll her eyes when he opens the car door for her with an exaggerated flourish. Doesn’t even question the way he hums under his breath as he drives—some aimless tune, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in time with the rhythm.

It’s… nice.

Too nice.

Because Jamie Tartt has always been in her life like a storm—loud and chaotic and everywhere all at once. But this? This is different. It’s steady. Purposeful.

And that’s what scares her.

They don’t talk much as he drives. He makes a few comments about some knob on the pitch today, how Roy nearly had an aneurysm over something someone did in training. She nods, hums in agreement, but her mind is elsewhere.

Because no matter how hard she tries to focus on the words coming out of his mouth, her gaze keeps drifting back to the shoebox in her lap.

Jamie had kept all of this.

Ticket stubs, stupid notes, photos she didn’t even know existed.

She doesn’t know what to do with that.

Doesn’t know what it means.

But before she can spiral too hard, Jamie pulls up in front of a familiar place.

Her brows furrow. “The Dogtrack?”

Jamie flashes her a grin, hopping out of the car. “C’mon.”

She follows him, still utterly lost. It’s dark, but the entrance is lit up. The usual bustling energy of match days is missing, the stadium eerily quiet.

Jamie pushes open the door and gestures for her to step inside. “After you.”

She gives him a suspicious look but walks in.

And stops dead.

Because standing there—right in the middle of the locker room—is the entire AFC Richmond team.

And they’re all grinning at her.

There’s a giant “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” banner hanging from the ceiling, a table filled with snacks and a cake, and—oh god, is that Roy Kent wearing a bloody party hat?

There’s a beat of stunned silence before Keeley comes bounding over, throwing her arms around her.

“Happy birthday, babe! Jamie said you were trying to be all sneaky about it, but absolutely not.”

She barely has time to process that before she’s being passed from person to person—Rebecca giving her a warm hug, Sam beaming at her, Dani nearly lifting her off the ground in excitement.

She hears Isaac loudly exclaim, “Wait, I knew we were missin’ someone’s birthday this month!”

Colin laughs. “Mate, you did not.”

In the middle of it all, Jamie watches her.

She meets his eyes across the room, her heart hammering in her chest.

He doesn’t say anything. Just smirks and nods toward the table like go on, then.

And Y/N, for the first time in a long time, thinks that maybe—just maybe—her birthday is something worth celebrating after all.

The party is chaos.

Good chaos, the kind she never would have planned for herself but can’t help smiling at. The team is in full celebration mode—Dani is leading a conga line around the locker room, Sam is passionately debating cake flavors with Rebecca, and Roy has miraculously kept the party hat on despite muttering curses under his breath every time someone points it out.

Y/N lets herself enjoy it. She laughs when Colin hands her a drink, shakes her head fondly when Keeley insists on taking selfies with her, and even joins in when Isaac starts up some ridiculous drinking game involving half the squad and an alarming amount of tequila.

But eventually, it all becomes a lot.

Not in a bad way, just in an overwhelming way.

So she quietly slips outside.

The air is cool against her skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth inside. She leans against the railing overlooking the training pitch, letting out a slow breath.

She still doesn’t know how to process all of this.

Jamie—who forgets every birthday, who once confidently said the Queen’s Jubilee was in March—had remembered hers. And not just remembered. He had planned.

And the shoebox…

Her fingers tighten around the railing.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there before she hears the door open behind her.

Footsteps. Familiar ones.

Then Jamie’s voice, soft but teasing. “Oi. You ditchin’ your own party?”

She huffs a laugh but doesn’t turn around. “Just needed some air.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Too much?”

She finally glances over her shoulder. Jamie is standing there, hands in his pockets, watching her with that unreadable expression of his—the one that isn’t quite cocky, isn’t quite soft, but somewhere in between.

She exhales. “A little.”

He nods like he understands, stepping up beside her. They stand there for a moment, the sounds of the party muffled behind them, the cool night air settling around them.

Then, quietly, she says, “Thank you.”

Jamie tilts his head. “For what?”

She turns to face him fully now, and god, he’s so close. Close enough that she can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, like he doesn’t quite know how to respond.

“For everything,” she says, voice softer now. “For remembering. For the shoebox. For… all of this.” She gestures toward the stadium.

Jamie shifts on his feet, like he’s trying to play it cool, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. You were bein’ a right weirdo about it, keepin’ it a secret and all.”

She smiles. “I just don’t really celebrate it.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he murmurs, watching her carefully. “Just thought… dunno. Maybe this year, you should.”

Her throat feels tight.

Because Jamie Tartt—who is meant to be selfish, who is meant to be thoughtless—has seen her in a way no one else has.

She doesn’t know what to say.

So she doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she steps forward and wraps her arms around him.

Jamie stills for half a second before his arms come around her in return, pulling her in. He smells like expensive cologne and whatever shampoo he swears by, and his body is solid and warm against hers.

But then—just as she thinks about pulling away—Jamie shifts.

And suddenly, his arms tighten, and he tugs her even closer, pressing his forehead to the top of her head.

Her heart pounds.

Slowly, his hands move—one settling on her waist, the other slipping up her back.

Then, just when she thinks she’s hit her limit of feeling too much, Jamie shifts again—this time turning her towards the pitch and hugging her from behind, resting his chin against her shoulder, his chest pressing into her back, his arms locked around her like he’s keeping her there.

She swallows hard.

“D’you like it?” he murmurs against her skin.

She closes her eyes. “Yeah.”

Jamie exhales, his breath warm against her. “Good.”

Jamie’s expression shifts, something warmer settling in his eyes.

And then, because she can’t let him have the last word, she smirks. “But, y’know… If I wouldn't have liked it there would always be your plan B present..”

Jamie frowns, confused. “What?”

She bites back a grin, tilting her head at him. “Jamie, I distinctly remember you saying on your birthday that your dream present was me, wrapped in only a bow. What if I wanted the same?”

Jamie blinks.

Then, his lips part, and something dangerous flickers across his face.

“Can be arranged,” he says smoothly.

Y/N snorts, shoving his arm. “Oh, shut up.”

Jamie laughs, but there’s a look in his eyes—one that’s both playful and something else, something deeper.

Something she doesn’t know what to do with.

They stay like that for a long time.

Long enough for the noise of the party to fade into the background. Long enough for her to forget anything else exists.

Just her.

And Jamie.

And this.

[leeeedith]

STRAY KIDS reaction to first kisses with their S/O

Bang Chan 🐺

Chan would be the type to make the first kiss feel right. It would happen in a quiet moment, maybe while you're cuddled up together, and he'd tilt your chin up gently before closing the gasp. His lips would move against yours with warmth and care, like he's trying to tell you everything he feels without words. When you pull away, he'd rest his forehead against yours and chuckle softly. "That was even better than I imagined."

Lee Know 🐰

Minho's first kiss would be spontaneous but perfect. He'd act chill about it, but truthfully, he's been thinking about this for way too long. Maybe you're in the middle of teasing each other, and he just suddenly leans in—catching you off guard. It's brief but lingering, leaving you breathless. When he pulls back, he'd smirk and say something like, "Well, that was nice. Wanna try again?" as if he isn't freaking out inside.

Changbin 🐷

Changbin would be so nervous but try to play it cool. He'd spend forever working up the courage, maybe rambling a little before finally just going for it. His hands would be firm on your waist, bit his lips would be gentle, full of unspoken affection. Afterward, he'd let out a relieved laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow... okay. That was—uh—yeah, that was amazing." His ears would be so red.

Hyunjin 😺

Hyunjin's first kiss would feel like something out of a romance drama. He'd make sure the moment was absolutely perfect—soft lighting, maybe a slow song playing in the background. His eyes would flicker between yours before he slowly leans in, brushing his finger along your jaw. The kiss itself is slow, lingering, full of emotion. When he pulls away, he'd stare at you for a moment before whispering, "I think I just fell for you all over again."

Han 🐿️

Jisung's first kiss would be sweet and awkwardly adorable. He'd be hyping himself up like, "Okay, you got this, Han Jisung. Don't mess this up." And when he finally does it, it's soft, a little hesitant at first, but full of excitement. Afterward, he'd immediately start laughing out of nervous energy. "Okay, that was cute, right? Please tell me that was cute." You'd have to reassure him before he demands a second kiss to 'prove he can do it even better.'

Felix 🐥

Felix's first kiss would be pure butterflies. He'd be so gentle, as if he's afraid of breaking the moment. His hands would naturally find your waist, and he'd take his time, savoring the feeling of your lips against his. When you finally pull away, he'd smile so wide, dimples on full display, eyes full of love. "That was... wow. Can we do that again?" His voice would be all deep and soft, making your heart melt.

Seungmin 🐶

Seungming would be calm and confident—but inside? A complete mess. Probably say something teasing beforehand, like, "You're looking at me like you want a kiss or something." But when he actually kisses you? It's surprisingly gentle and full of warmth. He'd make it seem effortless, leaning in at just the right moment, his lips pressing against yours with the perfect mix of gentleness and firmness. Afterward, he'd act like it was no big deal, but the way he avoids eye contact and his small, satisfied smirk give him away. "Not bad, right?" he'd say, teasing—though he's secretly hoping you'll pull him in for another.

I.N 🦊

Jeongin would be shy but sweet. He'd hesitate for a second, a little nervous. But once he gathers the courage, he'd press a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips. The kiss would be sweet, innocent, and a little tentative—like he's afraid of messing up. When you pull back, he'd let out a nervous laugh, cheeks burning as he looks at you with wide eyes. "Was that... okay?" he'd ask, and when you nod and smile, he0d break into the cutest, giddy grin and let out a happy laugh. "Okay, good. Because I really wanna do that again."

[urprettylildoe]

𝓢𝓽𝓾𝓹𝓲𝓭 𝓬𝓾𝓹𝓲𝓭 (𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵)

yandere anti-cupid × (fem) cupid reader.

Synopsis: you bring couples together and he breaks them apart. A rivalry ensues between the two of you. And while Vexian seems hellbent on destroying everything you've built, we often forget how close hate is to love...or perhaps obsession is a better term.

Contains: yandere thoughts/behaviour, mentions of side character death, blood.

Note: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY ANGELSSSS ♡ Sorry this came out after valentine's day! I was so busy but here it is. (Wrote this to make myself feel less single) but anyway enjoy!

♡

Strange dreams had been plaguing your mind. And not just any dreams, ones of him.

Vexian, an anti-cupid — whose favourite indulgence was picking apart people's relationships, watching them crumble under the pressure. A heart made of stone, and a head even harder.

Then there's you, a cupid. The embodiment of everything pure and happy, the very person who fosters love. Too sweet, too gullible.

A match made in heaven, right?

You would dream of lips caressing your skin like silk, whispers of sweet promises fanning over your ear. It felt all too real each time you shot up, covered in cold sweat.

But, this couldn't possibly be true. How could it when he glared at you like you were dirt on his shoe?

A being born from evil could not be capable of such tenderness.

♡

A lazy yet smug smile adorned Vexian's lips as he watched the couple quarel. It was music to his ears, humans unknowingly dancing to his tune like puppeteers.

He doesn't remember the last time there wasn't a hole gaping through his black soul. It was a bottomless pit of hunger. It was only satiated when he fed on heartbreak and grief, and even then it would crave more.

Whether he liked it or not, he had grown addicted to his guilty (or not so guilty) pleasure of having power.

One obstacle stood in the way of getting what he wanted: You. A pretty winged thing who scurried around with a cute arrow and bow, desperate to give everyone a taste of romance.

Too selfless for your own good.

"You're wasting your time, y'know." Vexian drawled, towering over you. The air surrounding the two of you was distorted and sizzling; it pulled you in yet made you uneasy.

"How am I wasting my time exactly?" Your brows furrowed, a pretty pout on your lips that was adorably frustrating.

He could crush you under his foot like a bug, but he doesn't want to. The game is much more fun that way. The silver cracks that ran through his otherwise perfect skin practically glowed. "It's funny, trying to fix things that were bound to break eventually." A finger reached out to twirl a strand of your bouncy hair around it, his thumb rubbing it.

He continued, "Emotions make you weak. They cloud your judgement and do nothing but disrupt the so-called peace you strive for."

Holding your chin high, you attempted a glare that could only do so much to rival the crazed intensity in his. "It makes people happy, though."

"That could only do so much in the long run," his eyes crinkled. "And I can't wait to watch you realise that."

As quickly as he appeared, he vanished.

Back then, you didn't realise that there was something lurking in his eyes while he looked at you.

Perhaps it came from his desire to prove you wrong.

Vexian did everything he could to watch everything you built fall so graciously to the ground. He meddled into all of your relationship, hoping for a disheartened expression. The only thing on your face was a small smile as you continued aiming your arrows at each and every person.

Something fluttered inside of him. You were so fascinating, even more than the night sky he liked to stare at.

He recalled those evenings where he'd come to your place to discourage you, only to find himself in a trance..

The moonlight streamed through the window, bathing you in an ethereal glow. Your lashes cast shadows on your cheekbones as you slept.

And Vexian couldn't bring himself to hurt you.

Other evenings he'd watch over you while you were out match-making, just to quell the storm inside of him.

Perhaps it grew more wild as he left things on your windowsill.

The anti-cupid finally found something new he could study. How could your spells counter his own? What did you have that he didn't?

A new kind of beast awoke inside him. If love was so powerful, then shouldn't he get to experience it firsthand? That sounded only fair.

Yet, he didn't want any kind of love.

No, he wanted yours.

♡

Disappointment washed over you, replacing any initial excitement. Why didn't your arrows work? Why did it turn love into something unrecognisable, monstrous?

All the couples you worked so hard on matching ended up hurting each other. Jealousy would rear its ugly head into their lives, and so would obsession right after.

No, no, you could not fail. This was your one purpose, your true reason for living. If you couldn't fulfill your job, what would you do? Where would you go? What if-

"Hey, hey, relax."

That velvety, haunting voice sounded so deceptively sweet, prompting you to look up into his eyes. For a moment, you were almost fooled...until his hand on your shoulder snapped you out of it.

You wrenched out of his grasp, jabbing a finger into his solid chest. "What did you do?"

He hummed, "I'm not sure what you're talking about, baby." The pure amusement in his voice practically gave it away.

"You did something to my arrows, I-I don't know what it is but you're ruining love." Your voice sounded strained with distress. It could only make him croon. You always gave and gave and gave to those pests, but never got anything in return. He plans to fix that.

Tweaking your arrows was rather easy. A little dark magic here and there then it all fell into place, like a perfect puzzle piece.

Feigning sadness, he sighed dramatically. "And here I thought you'd like what I prepared for you. I just altered it a teeny bit to perfection. After all, shouldn't the feeling of it consume you?"

You flail your arms in wild gestures, "no, it shouldn't."

"Oh?" Then why did he feel that way when he looked at you?

Before he could utter another remark, his gaze drifted over to where you had been staring before he arrived.

A measly man. Was he another one of your projects? Yes, that must be it. It's probably-

You turned to follow his gaze and you stared at the human...

...with hearts in your eyes.

His body froze up. The world around him spinned and the air thickened around him, crackling. He couldn't speak, couldn't think of anything else except you.

How dare you love another? Go against your morals? Lovers didn't betray each other, you knew that.

Fists clenching, he recoiled from your form but you didn't seem to notice, too entranced by the pathetic man. The gears started to turn in his head, jaw clenched.

No one should have your love. You should've noticed him, whose love burned brighter than the stars. But no matter, he will have your love. Vexian will be back soon enough.

After all, Valentine's day was approaching, right?

♡

14th of February.

Romance, love letters, sappy confessions, dates, all of it was on this fateful day.

You had a skip in your step, wings fluttering behind you as felt giddy about your favourite holiday. You got ready — adding a pretty gloss to your lips and a clip to your curls. You wore a short, white sundress for the occasion.

Things were going to be a bit different this year.

It was time you finally rewarded yourself on Valentine's — maybe a cupid could have a chance at love too?

Fluttering around your house, you looked for your bow and arrows. Could have sworn you put them on the vanity-!

They sat proudly, carefully, on the small kitchen table. There wasn't any time to ponder as you reached for them.

A large hand enclosed around yours.

Your breath hitched as the other arm wrapped around your other side, trapping you against the table.

Warm breath fanned over the nape of your neck, "Happy Valentine's day, my love." Vexian pressed a kiss to your temple, making your chest tighten. What is he doing?

The lack of response on your behalf only encouraged him to continue, "thought I'd bring you a gift. What kind of lover would I be if I didn't, hm?" You had half the mind to call him out, if it weren't for the supposed present being thrusted into your hands.

A white rose, dripping in crimson.

Your ears rang as the thorns prickled your skin, sending golden blood running down your hands. "What- I-I-"

Vexian hushed, smoothing down your hair, "Shh, baby. I got rid of that pest for us, aren't you happy?" The flower dropped to the ground. Pest, did he mean-

No, no, no. Not him. Please. Your quiet sobs wouldn't come close to the turmoil twisting your very organs around.

"Don't cry, Y/N." He cooed lovingly, cupping your chubby cheeks and squishing them together as tears ran down in streaks. This was a nightmare. A terrible one.

You managed to sputter, sobbing, "what have you done?"

His chuckle sounded more like a rumble in his chest, dark wings mocking your tiny ones that he's come to love so much. "What have I done? I made sure no one stood between us anymore." That only made you spiral deeper and deeper, drowning in your tears.

Sigh. "Baby, I understand your hesitation. You fear what you don't understand, right? I do not love like you do. I love like the moon loves the tides—pulling, controlling, devouring.” a soft smile has the audacity to grace his lips, "but the way I see it, you wouldn't need to worry about my loyalty. The devotion I have is eternal, unlike that human."

"He didn't do anything to you!" You bawled hysterically, both because of your demise and the man's. Your shaky hands reached up to grab his, trying to pull them off of you.

"Oh, but he did. He took your attention away, and that alone is unacceptable." He peered into your frightened eyes at such a close proximity, "but enough about him, I want to show my real gift."

Raising his hand, Vexian snapped his fingers. And the world around you spun before collapsing.

♡

You could finally look around, but this was not your home.

The luxuries surrounding you were hard to ignore — walls made out of marble stones and intricate carvings, jewels and expensive trinkets littered the room and a heavenly view was cast outside. This location was too peaceful, too relaxing, too perfect.

Realisation dawned on you that this was no ordinary place, but a palace. You almost forgot about Vexian if it wasn't for his warm hands placing themselves on your waist.

"Do you like it here?"

A sniffle escaped you as your gaze flickered up to him, "W-where are we?"

He spread his arms wide open, a cheek grin making its way onto his features. "Home."

"H-home?!" You repeated a moment after.

"Home," he confirmed. "I made this world for you, for us. Time is a bit different here, but other than that, everything you desire shall be at your feet."

Your body flinches at the impact of his words. This guy expected you to go running into his arms, didn't he?

You whisper softly, "No, I won't stay. What about my life back there?"

"You're still thinking about those pesky humans? Your only purpose right now is to accept my love," he stepped forward, pushing you down on the golden, silk sheets of the king-sized behind, hair spreading out beneath you like a halo.

Struggling under his grasp, you yelled. "And what makes you think I'll actually stay here?" You expected anger, but it never came. His gentleness was a contradiction to his existence, so much that you couldn't believe this was the same man who hated Valentine's day with a burning passion.

Silver eyes gleamed under his tousled locks of black, "you will, one way or another." Slowly, he extracted a blade, shushing your protesting cries with a peck on the nose.

You screamed and thrashed, trying to get him off. "You monster, let go of me!" Hands clawed at his chest, trying to free yourself. It was all in naught though as he pinned you down.

He cut his own palm then did the same to you. Then, he interwined your hands together — silver and gold mixing — before leaning down to kiss you. You turn your head to the side, only for him to grab the back of it and force you to look him in the eye.

"I've waited so, so long to do this. M'not wasting my chances, my love." His lips suddenly smashed down on yours, the kiss speaking volumes.

You tried to break free, but the spell was strong. Your resistance grew weaker and more futile. It was a silence to your pleas. You could no longer flee.

He pulls away, pupils dilated. Finally, you whisper softly, succumbing to your fate, "you don't understand love at all."

Pressing his forehead against yours, he smiled adoringly.

"Then teach me. After all, we have all eternity."

♡

Yours truly,

@urprettylildoe

[riddle-me-ri]

a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day everybody!! I hope that no matter your relationship status you all love and treat yourselves well because you deserve it! I did Lupin the Third and Gang and figured I'd also try my hand at the roster of Jojo characters I write for lol, enjoy~

Reader Asking Various JJBA Characters to Be Their Valentine

Jonathan Joestar

- Instantly flattered, stumbling over his words.

- Jonathan will likely tease you about how it was his job to ask you first..

- However, he will let it slide as long as you let him treat you-

- Treat you to what? Well, a proper Valentine's Day date of course!

- He was going to treat you even before you asked, but now he's definitely got to make the plans and

- It's a gentleman's duty to sweep the object of his affection off their feet, you know!

Robert E. O. Speedwagon

- Speedwagon is rendered speechless.

- Just how in the hell do you manage to be so damn adorable.

- He couldn't say no even if he wanted to, which by no means would he ever turn you down to begin with.

- When he accepts, it's with an abundance of joy that causes him to pick you up and twirl you around effortlessly.

- Speedwagon's mind is reeling over the next steps-

- Where to take you out, what gifts to get you, what flowers you said were your favorite if you had any…

- Speedwagon couldn't wait to spend the special day with you as your special person.

Joseph Joestar

- Well, Duh! That wasn't already a given?

- Besides, even if you didn't ask Joseph–he already assigned himself the role.

- Will definitely rub it in everyone's face

- (especially Caesar if he's in the picture)

- Through all his teasing, Joseph is deep down extremely grateful.

- Joseph feels like the luckiest bastard in the world…

- And he may even tell you that today when you two are alone…

- Expect to spend the entire day with him and him proudly claiming to be “your” Valentine.

Caesar Zeppeli

- Caesar is stunned.

- Much like Jonathan, he feels it's him who should be the one asking you!

- Caesar, of course, accepts your offer full heartedly.

- Somehow, his romanticism goes up by 11, considering it wasn't already there to begin with…

- Of course, he has to seal the romantic union with a kiss-

- Which definitely won’t be the last kiss of the day…

- Caesar has way more where that comes from and more ~

Jotaro Kujo

- Jotaro is speechless…he's never really cared for the holiday…

- He feels you should celebrate your loved ones year around and not just put all your eggs in one basket, so to speak.

- Jotaro doubts you’re being serious…

- But he's known you long enough to see signs of you being nervous and anxious…

- Which you were showing the longer he took to respond properly.

- If it was anyone else, he'd likely ignore them or tell them to leave him alone…

- He quietly accepts as he lowers the brim of his cap over his eyes.

Noriaki Kakyoin

- Huh?

- Kakyoin stumbles with his words, almost pure word vomit.

- W-what does he say? Is just saying yes enough?

- Should he say more? He should probably say more…

- It's okay, his brain is short circuiting from his crush, asking him to be their Valentine.

- After fumbling, he does come out on top and accepts your request…

- Kakyoin can't hide his excitement, though, as he holds your hand, and you're both off to spend the day together.

Jean Pierre Polnareff

- May or may not start tearing up from the sheer overwhelming emotion of love for you.

- Polnareff is so deep in his emotions he may forget to answer the question-

- Although his dramatic response serves as a good reference that his normal answer would be yes.

- Polnareff is quick to sweep you off your feet-princess style as he begins spilling some cheesy romantic lines.

- If you aren't already in a relationship, this is definitely the moment that starts it

- Polnareff will do whatever it takes to be your one and only Valentine for the rest of your life.

Hol Horse

- Hol Horse has been a handful of people's Valentine…

- Yet there was something different when you asked him this year round…

- You and Hol have been friends for awhile, sure you two flirted and had a fun banter going on…

- In fact, Hol almost suspects you of teasing him because of it, if it wasn't for the anxious look on your face.

- He accepts, of course, without any other second thoughts.

- The smile you give him is sweet enough to do him in.

- Yeah, this isn't the first time he's been asked to be someone's Valentine.

- But he can't deny that he hopes he can be yours year round…

Josuke Higashikata

- Josuke has definitely had his fellow classmate or two ask him this.

- While he is flattered, of course, he doesn't really accept anyone…

- This does make you a little nervous to ask yourself, you two were friends, and what if this ruins it?

- When you push through your nerves, Josuke is surprised.

- But only for a minute–

- Of course, he accepts!

- In fact, he's been waiting to see if you'd ask before he had to ask you himself!

- You're annoyed at the shit he gives you–

- But the beaming smiles you give each other is well worth it.

Giorno Giovanna

- Giorno is flattered, so much so he's rendered flustered.

- He never thought he would ever be considered to be someone's Valentine…

- However, if it had to be anyone that asked, he's glad it was you.

- Through his surprise, he does accept your offer–

- You'll likely have to take the lead as to what you two do to celebrate the day and union.

- Giorno has always had feelings for you, but after this, he's come to the full realization.

- He absolutely adores you, and he wants to make sure he's your Valentine every year for years to come.

Bruno Bucciarati

- Bruno tries to shake off the surprise, but he is fairly taken aback.

- He also feels like he should have been the one asking you-

- When he does accept, he admits that he did plan on asking you himself–

- Yet, in the end, he's just content that the feelings were clearly mutual…

- Bruno sets out to treat you and spend the rest of the day with you.

- He may not have got to ask you, but he will make up for it with actions instead…

- Bruno will never hear the end of it from the gang, but he can't care less.

- As long as your hand was in his and your smile was caused by him, Bruno wanted nothing more.

Jolyne Cujoh

- (the fact you're attempting this knowing Anasui could pop up anywhere is honestly pretty daring, you have my respect)

- Jolyne is surprised.

- Granted if it was anyone else, she would likely ignore them, like her father would–

- Yet, she does care about you a lot..

- Plus, Jolyne does think it's pretty sweet thst you asked her out of everyone else…

- Her cheeks are dusted a soft pink, but she does accept.

- There's not too much you two can do locked up-

- But spending the day with one of the few people you care about the most–there's really nothing better than that.

[aladywithabat]

I don't know if this makes to anyone else, but Novi Val and Carpe Diem are the same to me

Like, they feel like they give off the same vibe and meaning, while channeling polar opposite emotions

[honestlyvan]

👀👀 rlly interesting read on ovan, would love to hear some abt ur hcs on him n corbenik

(Now on DW!)

So it's been a hot minute since I watched Terminal Disc so my memory of the details of the canon are very vague, but I definitely think it's likely that the Epitaphs attached themselves to players in reverse numerical order, making Ovan the first and unintentionally the template for how becoming an Epitaph-PC would play out.

Corbenik is sort of funny as a Phase because the way it's laid out in the Epitaph, Corbenik serves no function until the Wave wipes out its intended target, and it's left behind to observe the void. As long as the system state isn't disturbed and no new AI begins to emerge, Corbenik stays passive theoretically forever -- but once it is disturbed, it rouses the rest of the Wave to come clean up what was left unfinished.

(I recognise this isn't how we see it play out in R1, I'm basing this on the idea that Morganna designed the Wave to be essentially self-propagating against Aura. The stalemate is the point, the rolling waves razing any fertile ground for her to develop on in favour of perpetual despair and the call of the void.)

With Corbenik as the rearguard of the apocalypse, it could have easily been the most active (least inactive?) of the Phases during the period of calm after Aura takes over Morganna's duties -- with no AI competing with Aura available to suppress, it was essentially on standby, latching onto Ovan the moment he showed up and then doing nothing until it registered the AIDA that also attached itself to Ovan.

Which is the thing that really fucks Ovan over, I think. The body timeshare he has with Tri-Edge is stressful enough, but Corbenik is also perpetually making him identify himself as the greatest threat to system integrity. So he's essentially getting a triple dose of the Epitaph "the solution is Fucking Kill Yourself" heightened self-destructive urge -- from the nature of the Cursed Wave, from the Vagrant AI-fication of the Phases and being (in part) his own natural-born enemy.

On top of this, Corbenik is perpetually calling to the other Phases like "over here! I've identified the enemy! Here is an AI we need to stop from reaching self-actualisation!" So candidates are drawn to him, unconsciously recognise him as having seniority, and then immediately identify him as the threat to be eliminated. People keep forming a kind of proxy disordered attachment to him, feeling compelled to follow his orders but also feeling threatened by his presence and become driven by the urge to destroy him.

Haseo is particularly vulnerable to this because Skeith and Corbenik are so intertwined in their roles, the first Phase is the one the last calls the strongest, and his personal sense of betrayal only amplifies the destructive resonance. And the influence goes both ways, the more Skeith perceives Corbenik's host as the main threat, the more Corbenik calls on Skeith as the vanguard to eliminate that threat. Haseo's (perceived) perception of him directly influences Ovan's perception of himself -- with everyone else Ovan is very particular about asserting his own reality, but with Haseo, the way Haseo sees him takes priority over how Ovan sees himself.

[almadelsur]

💋 The Secrets One Keeps

summary: You're in love with jj but he's with kie, so in moments of pure desperation you often find yourself turning to the person he hates the most...rafe

warnings: some good old angsty pining, very very slight smut if you squint, fem!reader, one or two uses of y/n, plz let me know if I missed anything

a/n: SHE'S BACKKKK, so I've decided to completely reformat and re-post this fic with a few tweaks and editing considering i first wrote this like 3 years ago, and yes for those of you who have been asking, I fully intend to finallly continue this fic....more info on that later ;)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

JJ’s eyes change the moment Kiara steps into any room. Immediately his presence is ripped away from your immediate atmosphere, popping the little bubble you'd spent all afternoon crafting as he sprung up to greet the olive-skinned enigma that captured his affections.

“Kie!” The joy in his tone was incomparable to anything he’d directed at anybody else. Nothing could draw out such happiness from the blonde. You hated that about her.

In an attempt at self-defense, your brain shut itself off. Shielding you from processing the scene in front of you, your emotions ran cold like cement pouring down and across your neurons. It was the only way you could survive such a beating to your heart.

You figured that by distancing yourself mentally, you wouldn’t have to raise suspicion and distance yourself physically. In reality, you knew the real reasoning was your inability to stay away from JJ but the facade helped you cope.

“Hey J” she embraced him and his body relaxed around her as if she was the only source of his happiness. The only way he’d find alleviation from what he perceived as a shitty life being through her. “Sorry I’m late my parents had me running like crazy at the wreck today.”

Scattered greetings filled the air from the rest of the pogues, yet you could only focus on the way his eyes fixated on her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Here come sit baby” he offered her the seat he had just previously been place holding. What you thought had been quality time with your best friend, presented itself to you now as momentary attention to pass the time until his actual desire arrived.

Settling herself down and offering you a wide smile, her shoulder bumped against yours gently as a sign of acknowledgment.

“Hey dude” she directed at you, but you didn’t reply. You just couldn’t bring yourself to pretend. Not today anyway. Instead, you offered her a small smile, it was minimal but it was the best you could do under the circumstances.

“Yo" A crumpled tissue paper flew at your head, jj attempting to refocus your attention on him, "didn’t you say you were gonna get some water or something?” He spoke up, the scheme evident in his tone.

“um yeah I guess” You lifted yourself up and took a few steps before jj used the opportunity to slump himself down where you had been sat and sprawled his arms across his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“snooze ya loose sucker” he joked as he turned to Kiara to start up some mindless conversation. Leaving you behind in the dust.

Your teeth gritted as you focused on making your way to the kitchen hoping the distance from the scene unfolding would lift the iron grip on your heart.

You made the fatal mistake of glancing back and you were met with the image of jj nuzzling up to kiara in a picturesque display of love. The lump building at the base of your throat indicated that it was your time to get the hell out of there before you broke down in front of everyone. 

“Shit guys, y’know what I just realized I gotta go” You spoke quickly, your tone matching your pace as you rushed to the exit of the chateau. 

“You’re still coming to the party later though right?” John B asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen in front of him. 

“Mhm yeah sure” you opened the door ready to depart. 

“Shit I forgot about that! Me and jj are gonna be late, we got dinner at the wreck tonight.” kiara added as you stepped out, unable to control the escape of a rogue tear.

“Date night babyyyy” You heard JJ cheer before you slammed the door behind you. 

“Is Y/N okay? She seemed a bit off.” Kie nudged JJ as she questioned. 

JJ furrowed his eyebrows momentarily. Glancing out the window, he saw you jog away from the house, and a brief flash of worry flashed through his mind. As quick as it came, it dissipated. He shook his head figuring that if there had been something wrong, he’d have been the first to know. 

“Nah she’s okay don't worry.” he offered to kie.

Boy was he mistaken. 

——————————————————————

“Fuuuck me” you moaned out, sinking into him one last time. You were hot, sweaty, and heaving as you pulled him out of you.

“I thought I just did” Rafe taunted leaning back to lie down, arms crossed behind his head causing his taut abdomen to flex.

You scrambled off the bed, picking up your garments and shoving them back on your body forcefully.

“What, no pillow talk?” He tried again.

“Rafe..” you trailed off. Whenever you’d finish fucking, you’d struggle to even look at him. The self-hatred flooded your body as soon as the orgasm poured out.

“Hey you called me” he eyed you intently but you knew he didn’t actually care. To rafe cameron everything was just a game. At this point it was pretty much common knowledge. “In fact” he moved closer to you so that he could speak directly into your ear “It’s always you that calls me.”

“Don’t be a dick” you stood up and eyed your heels contemplating whether you could face the walk back in them. “You know it makes me feel like shit.” It might have sounded brutal but that’s how things were with rafe.

“Yeah, it’s like you punctuate your orgasms with self-hate.”

“I'm a pogue, rafe.” You argued back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So? Kooks and pogues can fuck you know.” You couldn’t comprehend why you were even having this conversation. Why now, why tonight.

“Yeah maybe, not you though.” You didn’t want to tell him the reason explicitly.

“I fuck pogues.”

“You fuck anyone.” The words came out almost instantly and without thinking, yet rafe took no offense.

“Exactly so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is, rafe.” You paused trying to find the words without actually having to say the words. “The issue is that if my friends found out they’d hate me, probably more than I already hate myself.”

He just chuckled, the look in his eyes changing as he figured you out.

“What's funny?” You challenged.

“You don’t have to bullshit me princess.” He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye. “You just don’t want jj knowing about your little escapades huh?” Bingo.

“He’s with Kiara.” You shrugged him off.

“Uh huh, you like him but you can’t have him.” Every word he spoke striking a nerve deep within you. “So you’re fucking me to fuck him over.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grabbed your heels and shoved them on, wincing as you buckled them up.

“Don’t I?” He threw his joggers on lazily as he stood, the level dynamics changing significantly. The older boy towered over you. “Where are they tonight?”

“Back at John B’s, we had a little get-together.” You crossed your arms. More often than not you usually called rafe after a few drinks left you feeling lonely. “Sorry, your invite must have gotten lost in the mail.” You attempted to jab at him with sarcasm yet he clearly held the upper hand with his line of questioning. 

“So all of them are there now?” He stepped towards you.

“Mhm,” You lied.

“Even jj?” Moving closer until your neck was craned upwards to meet his eyes.

Taking your silence as an answer, he reached up and ran his palms across your upper arms, prompting you to uncross them.

“He was uh- him and kie should be getting there soon” You mumbled.

“So would i be wrong in guessing, that might have prompted your call then?” You let yourself be guided by his movements leaning your neck further back as his hand trailed up to your jawbone.

“rafe…” you called out insignificantly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your neck, right over where he could feel your pulse, and pressed down.

You couldn’t help the gasp that left your mouth. Because as much as your heart belonged to jj, rafe was just so fucking good at raising your temperature.

“Round two?” He mumbled against your neck.

“Yeah..” you attempted yet it came out as a whisper. He grabbed you swiftly and lifted you, moving you across the room and throwing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you in a predatory manner as he did so. As your back hit the bed, the ringing of your phone brought you back from the haze he had you under. 

“Wait rafe stop stop” you pushed him off and grabbed the screeching mobile, pressing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Dude, where are you?” The sound of jj’s voice came through over the pumping sound of music and party chatter. “Me and Kie just got back and John B says no one’s seen you for like over an hour.”

“Oh I’m uh, I had to go do something for my mom” The lie pouring out of your mouth caused rafe to chuckle which was of course met by a slap from you signaling for him to be quiet.

“Oh well, when are you getting back? I have to tell you about this date. You’re gonna be so proud of me I actually think I’m ready to tell Kie I love her” you screwed your eyes shut as he spoke.

“Yeah I- you know what I can’t make it back my mom needs me to stay and help out but uh I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” You hung up before he could even reply, throwing your phone down uncaring of its state.

“What’s wrong? They getting hitched?” Rafe spoke up from behind you.

You turned to Rafe, the fire in your veins pushing your arms to grab him, roughly pulling him back onto you.

“Just shut up and fuck me rafe.”

And fuck you he did.

——————————————————————

The next morning you woke up to the sight of rafe’s bare back. Not much of a cuddler, you figured.

Quietly you pushed the covers off and began to dress yourself back up. As you got to your shoes you sighed and shook your head, as if there was any way in hell you were going to walk home in heels. You scooped up your shoes and your now-cracked phone shaking your head, slightly ashamed at your outburst.

Without even a second glance at the sleeping body you were leaving behind, you made your way over to the door. As you turned the knob and stepped out to leave, a husky voice spoke up.

“I’ll keep my ringer on for you babe.”

You rolled your eyes looking back at him, “Fuck you rafe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m counting on.” He didn’t even open his eyes as he answered, instead just rustling around in the bed and turning to the other side, once again facing his back to you.

You scoffed as you exited. Your internal rant clouded your vision, body on autopilot with an excellent self-navigation of the Cameron house from the countless times you’d made this exit.

“Y/N?” The gentle voice wiped your thoughts clean as the shock stilled you dead in your tracks, slowly turning to come face to face with none other than Sarah.

“Sarah” you drawled out. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house?” Her head was cocked to the side, equally shocked to see you.

“No I just mean- I thought you were spending the night at John B’s.” You forced the small talk, avoiding the topic of why you were here, sneaking out at 8 in the morning.

“He had to work today, did you spend the night here?” She glanced up at the door of rafe’s bedroom.

“Umm-“ There had only been two other instances where you had been at a complete loss for words. The day jj told you he and Kiara were dating, the morning after your first sexual encounter with rafe, and now this.

“Are you sleeping with my brother?!” She whisper-shouted, eyes wide as the realization hit her. Busted.

“No?”

“Oh my god!” She grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to her room, slamming the door as soon as you were both inside. “How long has this been going on?!” Her tone was loud and her hands wild as she interrogated you.

“Just a little under a year.” You sat on her bed and looked at your lap as you spoke. Reminiscent of a child being scolded.

“A year?! Oh my god!” She repeated. “Who knows about this?!”

With that, you looked up at her desperately. “No one. No one knows so please don’t tell them.” You didn’t have to name names for her to know who you were referring to.

“Are you two like” she paused “together?” She scrunched her nose up, disgusted at the thought of her bully of an older brother dating anyone.

“No god no. It’s just sex” you were just as uncomfortable as Sarah was, having to tell her about boning her older brother.

“Disgusting.” She turned away from you with her arms crossed, looking out the window.

“Look I’m not proud of it okay? Just-“ You sighed “Just please don’t tell anyone” pleading again.

Sarah let out a long sigh and uncrossed her arms. She walked over to you and joined you on the bed, her eyes showing concern mixed with something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“I thought you were into jj” she spoke softly, there it was. Pity.

“Yeah well, jj is with kie and instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, I decided to do something about it.” As the words left your mouth, you realized how weak the explanation was.

“So you just use rafe to bang the jj out of you.”

“It’s not like Rafe cares, if anything he’s also using me.” You tried to reason.

“I don’t doubt that. But I mean, that’s- It’s not healthy, you’ll never move on if you don’t actually process your emotio-“

“Look Sarah, I don’t need to do any of that shit okay? What I have here works, when I fu- when I’m with rafe, I don’t think about jj.” Tears began to swell in your eyes “Sleeping with rafe helps me forget about everything, even if it’s only for a little while he uh- he makes me feel good.” To an extent, there was truth behind your words, while you and rafe fucked the rest of the world went away. It was only after, that the crippling self-hatred hit you along with the return of your immense feelings for jj. 

Sarah shuffled over and threw her arm around you. “That’s not good for you, it’s just momentary. It’s easy and it's a cycle, you’re never going to get better going down this path. Especially not with rafe.”

“Rafe he’s- he’s not that bad.”

“Yes he is. But i bet it gives you satisfaction fucking him knowing jj hates him. Feels like revenge right?” She’d always been so perceptive your Sarah, you hated how she could see right through you.

Tears ran down your cheek silently. “You’re not gonna tell anyone right?” You sniffled.

She gave you one of those classic salt-of-the-earth Sarah Cameron smiles, the kinda smile that would light up any room she walked into. “Takin' it to the grave babe.”

A loud beeping caused both your heads to whip towards the window. “Shit, I completely forgot I was supposed to go on the HMS with pope and jj, we were gonna chill there until John B and Kie finished work.” She rose to her feet and extended an arm towards you. “Wanna come? Or we could drop you home if you’re not up for it.”

With a sigh you took her hand and pulled yourself up, walking beside her as you mentally prepped yourself to face the blonde you desperately pined for.

“Well rise and shine campers.” jj yelled out of the window of the drivers seat.

“Y/N! Where you been dude? you totally bailed last night.” Pope was next to speak as you and Sarah filed into the Twinkie. As JJ began to drive you avoided any form of eye contact in his general direction.

“I had to go help my mom out, blackout at mine again.” You didn’t even look at pope either, instead focusing your attention on the blur of trees and houses pacing by the window as JJ sped down the winding roads.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” pope, observant as always, pointed out.

“Uh yeah, I didn’t really get any time to change cause…”

“I called her last night when I got home, I was so drunk I don’t think I was ready to stop the party.” Sarah covered for you.

“Yeah I wrapped up helping my mom out and then this one calls me talkin bout a sleepover or something so I didn’t exactly have much time to change.” 

Thankfully pope had lost interest as soon as he had asked the question, otherwise, your overcompensating ass would have been caught out straight away. You always had to add to the lie until you felt like you had sold it completely.

Keeping your eyes trained on the outside meant that jj’s frown directed at you through the windscreen mirror went completely undetected. He always knew whenever there was something up with you and right there and then he knew something definitely was.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t need to address you explicitly for you to know he was talking to you.

“Yeah just tired.” You shrugged him off in an attempt to distance yourself from him yet again.

He knew you were lying but he didn’t understand why, you never lied to each other. Apart from John B, the pair of you were closer to each other than with anybody else in the group. You’d been best friends since kindergarten, and since then you’d sworn 3 things to each other.

1- You’d always share your snacks.

2-You’d always be best friends even if you argued.

 3- You would never ever lie or keep secrets from each other.

Of course, as the both of you grew older the rules became more and more lax. The snack sharing was limited only to when you felt nice enough and sometimes you’d go for days without making up if you had argued particularly badly. Having kept two friendship-breaking secrets from him, the childhood rules seemed pretty insignificant by now.

“Mhm,” he responded, flickering his eyes between you and the road. “Are we taking you home to change first?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll join you guys afterward though.” You chewed down on your nail anxiously as the tension from being in the same space as jj paired with the guilt from having fucked rafe prior, suffocated you.

JJ made a face as he focused on the road, something was wrong with you and he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to put his everything into finding out what that was.

[autumnation]

getting really sentimental with the ocs today

[strawberryfloofs]

tw: mentions of neglect/abuse

carer with a traumatized age regressor they know they're helping to heal everytime they slip.

never received toys/were given very few toys as a kid? bubbas spoiling you in all the toys you want! if their kiddo is a little more shy and feeling guilty, they'll notice their little one eyeing a toy. "do you want it puppy? no need to feel bad, i just wanna give you everything you deserve"

went without food in public? carer will always order something for you, you never have to watch them eat while you have nothing. "oh honey I would never~ not only is that mean, but you gotta grow big and strong like me!"

went without food/snacks in private? your caregiver always makes sure they stock up on your favorite snacks and brands- no matter how specific they are. there's no shame in only eating a certain brand or flavor of chips. there's always groceries in the house and they're happy to cook for you, wanting to make sure you're safe AND fed. "are you hungy? I can get my sweetheart their favorite snack until the pastas done?"

had bad physical treatment? they would NEVER even THINK about laying a hand on you. if you misbehave or act up, they understand you're just in littlespace. like real kids, emotions can be hard and some moments arent good. sometimes kids like to test boundaries, there's nothing wrong with that. they won't let it slide and will issue lines, time outs, and stuff like early bedtime or shorter playtime- but nothing physical or mentally damaging. "angel I know you're all upset and shouting at bubba, but I need you to sit in the chair for 5 minutes. we don't yell."

missed out on a lot of childhood experiences? that's okay! your cg is soooo happy to integrate anything into their routine. whether it's storytime, going to the park, holiday celebrations, they're happy to accomodate! "oh you wanna have a bubba baby book read before your nap? of course little one!"

touch starved and wanting a lot of physical affection? they'll love on you SO much to try and make up for it! cuddles, pats, carries, boops, you got it! "awww does munchkin need a hug? cmere"

weren't treated the best emotionally? they understand how it can impact you. your carer always reminds you that you're not a burden, it wasn't your fault, and they truly do love you. they're not lying to you, they don't hate you, there's no maliciousness or ulterior motives- just pure love and care. "I know it was a lot, and I'm sorry you had to live through that angel- but I'm glad you're with me now. As long as I'm here, and as long as you'll let me- I won't let anyone treat you like that again. I pinky promise, my little love. Always, and forever."

Icl, this was very self indulgent to me- but I hope anyone who can sadly relate feels atleast a little bit of comfort and wholesomeness from this. I believe you. You're strong.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

dinner prep engagement ♡

a/n : aaaand its finally here, the final part of the ring pop proposal miniseries after decades !!!! im sorry it took me so long to write this final part yall, i just finally felt enough inspo to write it and im super happy w how it came out ! i hope yall do too ! lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist ! much luv xx

fem reader, literally pure fluff between mama n son, katsuki gets emotional very quickly bc i believe he does and you cannot make me think otherwise, a lil emotional but pure sweetness, mentions of making dinner, lmk if i missed sum else !!

this time, mitsuki has no idea what her son is planning. sure she’s had her hopes for years now, and her suspicions, but nothing truly concrete.

that is, until she gets a call in the middle of the night.

"katsuki..hello ?" she answers groggily, heaving a sigh and rubbing at her eyes. she checks next to her to make sure she hasn't woken her husband up, her eyes dart over to her digital clock " 'ts one in the morning."

"uh..hey." her son's gruff voice sounds over the phone, she raises a brow at his hesitant tone of voice, but she let's him continue "yeah, i know. sorry.." he mumbles out.

the older woman shakes her head affectionately "it's fine..is there something you wanted to talk about ?"

it's silent on the other end for a while until katsuki mumbles something. "katsuki, you know i can't hear you if you don't speak up." she scolds lightly, causing him to growl under his breath.

"not..not right now, no--just..can i come over tomorrow ?"

taking in her silence for hesitance he continues " it's nothin' bad..i just--feel like it's something i needa say face to face, i guess.."

"okay..yeah, of course. you know you can come over whenever you want." she urges "is yn comin' along ?"

"no, she isn't." she can practically hear his eye roll and it makes her smirk "she'll be busy tomorrow anyway so, not this time. i'll tell her you said hello though, since you're always tellin' me to."

she's about to retort when katsuki speaks again, only not to her. she hears what she knows is your voice quietly chatting with him as he reassures you that he'll be right there with you and for you to go back to bed. the soft tone in his voice makes her eyes soften.

never could she ever have imagined her katsuki ever speaking so softly to anyone, because her katsuki is, despite having calmed down over the years, still quite the brat. (she's pretty sure she knows where he gets it from now..) he's still temperamental when interviewers and journalists get on his nerves. he's still awfully moody , but he's different now. he's just a little bit gentler with the way he handles kids or older women who's cats have gotten stuck in trees. complaining that this isn't his damn job but still doing it anyway with utmost care as the kitties sink their sharp claws into his skin or cling to him for warmth.

he's a still a little rough around the edges but it's the thought that counts. he's different than when he was younger, but he still is the most different with you. his rough and gruff voice that he uses to bark out orders and complain, complain, complain, he uses so softly around you, keeping you as calm and sleepy as possible. it's not perfect, but he manages to usher you back to your room to sleep, and that makes the thought count so much more.

"m'gonna go now." he warns, his mother hums in agreement, telling him she'll see him tomorrow and he reciprocates the goodbye.

"night, ma."

"night, kiddo." she grins, a happy sigh leaving her when she hangs up the call and lays back down. cozying herself up next to her husband.

she's had her suspicions and her hopes for a while now, but she can't be too sure what her son could possibly want from her tomorrow.

katsuki comes back home like he's never left.

the day goes like any other day would've went a few years ago when he was still living in the family home. mitsuki almost expects her son to run off upstairs to do his homework.

he greets his dad with a half hug, and is forced into a tight embrace by his mother, which he grumbles about. grumbles turning into a growl when she grips his cheek, scolding him for not greeting his mother properly.

it's a lot of catching up from the few months he's been busy with hero work. talking about his latests achievements and his quick climbing of the hero ranks, accompanied with barely suppressed smiles and softened eyes when you're brought up. mitsuki remembers how nervous he'd been when he'd told her he was planning on asking you to move in with him, so she's happy to hear from the both of you, since she has your number and you like to catch up every now and then, that everything was going well. though she already knew it would.

katsuki volunteered to help with dinner, his mother happily agreeing saying she could use some help. it makes her a little bit nostalgic and she wills herself not to get teary eyed at how much her son has grown.

but she sees that the opportunity has presented itself to bring up the topic that's been on the tip of her tongue the entire day now.

"so.." she sings "you wanted to talk about something, right ?"

katsuki stiffens like he'd forgotten, although his expression stays the same besides the slight squint of his eyes. the rhythmic cutting of vegetables has stopped and it takes him a moment before he speaks quietly like he's revealing a secret.

"i wanna ask yn to marry me."

oh.

so that was it.

"oh." she breathes immediately. a broad smile slowly grows onto her face and she beams "took you long enough, ya brat !" she exclaims, slapping her sons muscular arm. he growls lowly at her, leaning away from her though she remains undeterred. poking at his sides while he tries to smack her hands away.

finally, she relents "when are you gonna ask ?" she asks excitedly. katsuki huffs, eyebrows still heavily furrowed from her earlier attack. he turns back to the cutting board "soon. i arranged my schedule and we'll both be free, so in two weeks from now."

"you already have a ring ?"

he grunts in agreement. and mitsuki besides being proud of the fact her hunch was right, feels her heart warms at the burst of nostalgia of her little boy. her katsuki, kicking his feet in the backseat of her car. tightly gripping his bag of ring pop candies he'd give to you the next day. her little katsuki, who'd proudly claimed he was going to marry you when he grew up in that very same car, exclaiming that he'd proposed to you with those very same candies he'd almost had a tantrum over her not getting.

her little boy, who'd gotten oh so big, and so, so much more enamoured with you.

"good." she utters sweetly, voice just a bit wobbly "good. that's great, katsuki."

he nods to himself " i've thought about it for a while now..long while." he scoffs to himself, eyes focused on the cutting board in front of him. "got the whole day planned out too."

"yeah ?" he nods. her eyes soften as he speaks mostly to himself, he's had this little self hype up habit ever since he was a boy. trying to calm himself down and reassure himself. it's a smart move, but as strong and mature as he is, katsuki is nothing more than human. and anxieties can creep up on the best of us.

she's seen it before, and she sees it again when he bites his bottom lip in thought, and she smiles softly.

and again, she coaxes him into it " that sounds nice, looks like you got it all planned out, huh?"

and he nods again. but it doesn't take him, long before he breaks.

"..what if she says no ?"

and mitsuki wants to laugh. she really does, because the thought of you ever saying no to him sounds absolutely ridiculous to her. she snorts. shaking her head while her son looks at her incredulously.

"katsuki.." she tuts, chuckling to herself before she looks up at him. "you've got absolutely nothing to worry about. you've got it."

his eyes widen, then her son's expression drops as he raises a brow "how do you know that ?" his words make her smile widen this much more and she really wants to laugh.

how does she know. she scoffs

she knows because she knows him. she knows her katsuki better than anyone else, he's her son. she knows he's rude, rowdy, quipy, temperamental and everything else. he's all of that and so much more.

and yet you still love him. you're still so incredibly patient with him, you still offer him all of your kindness despite him once confessing to her he doesn't understand how you do. despite all of the times he's messed up, the times he's fallen down, you stay by his side you care for him, you care about him.

she knows her katsuki is absolutely infatuated with you, he always has been. from tantrums about being separated in class and knowing your favourite ice cream flavour to him being overly protective over you when you were paired up with your lab partner that ended up not being him and to him wearing the stupid stuffy tux mitsuki tailor made for him to take you to prom.

you've always been his number one best friend, but he's always been yours as well : he loves you, but you love him just as much.

and so mitsuki smiles "call it mother's intuition. and, not to brag, but i think most of my hunches have been right by now" and it widens when katsuki scoffs and rolls his eyes at her boasting, another bratty little habit he has that he's practically mastered over the years. she sighs, spreading her arms out towards him "well come over here. you've gone and gotten so damn tall, i can't reach you myself !" her son rolls his eyes again, but he scoffs softly to himself and with a shake of his head, he closes the distance and hunches over to hug his mother. she wraps her arms around him tightly and he grumbles when she squeezes but he doesn't try to get away.

"there's nothing for you to worry about, katsuki. absolutely nothing." she repeats, rubbing his back. "you love each other, and that's more than enough. just be yourself, it's been working out for you this far..somehow." she jests. katsuki scoffs indignantly but they both end up chuckling about it. after a few more seconds they pull away and mitsuki pats her son's chest with a sniffle. right on top of his heart that she knows, she's seen, has gone through oh so much.

but still remained entirely yours throughout all the years and still so so so enamoured with you.

gripping onto his shoulders, she whispers "you got this." the glossiness in his eyes is impossible to miss, he's always cried very easily. but she guesses she mirrors his expression exactly. her son is the spitting image of her after all. she places a hand on his cheek and he leans into it.

"thanks, ma" he whispers sincerely. and mitsuki feels her heart soar.

"any time."

during dinner, katsuki announces the news to his father. who after getting over his shock immediately wraps his son into a hug. congratulating him and encouraging him with teary eyes, she knows where katsuki gets that from, before they all settle down to have dinner before katsuki leaves a few hours later. waving off his mother's insistence to pass you a greeting with a grumbled acknowledgement.

she shakes her head as her and her husband watch him drive off but her heart is full of pride.

"we raised a killer son didn't we ?" she giggles looking back at masaru, who agrees with a smile as they share a laugh.

and the next time you both come over, you're giddy. unable to keep your excitement in check as you keep excitedly looking back at katsuki, who finally relents with an affectionate sigh and you happily show off you're ringed finger with a squeal.

mitsuki squeals right back, wrapping you up in the tightest bear hug she could. masaru takes his turn hugging you, sweetly congratulating you both. of course, they'll tell you they both new in advance, but that was all for later.

sure, she didn't know what her son was planning in advance, but she had her hunches and her funny feeling from all those years ago that you'd be sticking around. she guesses it's good enough that she was the first to be told.

she sends her son a proud and teasing smile when they make eye contact. he rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face doesn't fade as he watches you talk with his father. she doesn't have to say a single word for him to know what she's saying.

i told you so.

taglist *if your name is pink i unfortunately couldn’t tag you :(( : @73isthebestnumber @gold24fish @m-inluv @katsuisbaby @teddiiursulas-ink @moonbabysstuff @brandydel @queenpiranhadon @chuugarettes @starieq @aishio14 @andysdrafts @hyunorue @touyasprettydoll @itsfiive @annoying-bitxh @h0nestly-though @atinytiredpanromantic @mikalame @itzjustj-1000 @deepressed @evam23 @erenstitanweave @m-0ona @chaoticgay13 @lotusstarr @koreluvsspring @giannitaa @waterstarz @nayeonsdoormat @the-crazy-star-12 @kovu-bunnbunn @kvk6433gkcigv @coolgirl458 @beekeepingageissome

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Cop More than a Feel

Kinktober Day 10: Spitroasting Two DILF Cop Alpha Yanderes x Gender Neutral Omega Reader CW: Noncon, omega discrimination, bigotry, a/b/o dynamics, musk, pheromones, abuse of authority, spitroasting, oral sex, threesome, knotting, general yandere behavior, reader fucked big stupid Word Count: 2k (Hope you guys enjoy this!)

You were in your car, a quiet moment of dread before going into work. It had become something of a daily tradition. You knew it would be another day of being belittled and harassed but if you gave up now it would be like admitting to all the people who told you you couldn’t amount to anything that they were right. You were an omega who had put themselves through the rigorous training to be a police officer, and you had managed to land a job in a short staffed department.

But no matter what you did or how many times you had proved yourself, you were still treated as a glorified secretary. The most dangerous thing you had ever been allowed to do was to go and get doughnuts and coffee by yourself.

It was humiliating. But it was not the worst thing that you had to put up with.

The worst of it were the snide remarks you could hear them make. Not even out of earshot, they didn't care if you heard. Awful comments about how you should be happy to even be a secretary around this kind of work. Comments about whose knot you should wind up bouncing on. Comments about what they thought your pheromones were like without your suppressants making them nearly undetectable. Comments about what your slick tasted like.

Those remarks made you angry, frustrated, and depressed. You wanted to scream and cry, but neither of those were options, lest you validate the emotional omega stereotype. It was pure gaslighting. But as ugly and bigoted as those remarks had been, they still weren't the end of things. It wasn't uncommon for a wandering hand to slide up your thigh when you had to sit by one of the alpha officers or grab your ass when you bent over.

The only time they didn't make any crude comments or get touchy with you were the times when the chief of police or the captain were around. You thought this was a hopeful sign that some of your superiors were open to the idea of an omega on the force and that they had told your other coworkers to treat you as an equal. At the very least, their commanding presence brought you some relief. They were ex-military, after all. This was not a just world, though, and you could not have been more wrong.

When you eventually mustered up the mental fortitude and could avoid it no longer, you went into the building.

For the most part, it was a standard and uneventful day, or at least what could be considered uneventful relative to what you normally suffered through. There were still comments and lecherous hands. Just not to the extent that there could have been. Though your day was fated to get much worse as right after lunch you were called into the chief's office.

Were you finally going to be given a chance to do some real police work?

No.

You entered to find both Chief Markey and Captain Nelson were present, and for some reason, the desk had been cleared. They did not look happy at all. It was a surprise performance review. This was not the first review that you had failed, but it was the one they were most negative with.

They said that while you clearly wanted to succeed and put in effort that it simply wasn't good enough. You were constantly jumpy and distracted, on edge constantly. Not to mention emotional. No major outbursts per se, but you were constantly glaring at your fellow coworkers. You tried to point out that your behavior reflected a hostile work environment.

Chief Markey raised his voice as he replied while Captain Nelson smirked.

"That proves you aren't meant for this job, you cannot even take responsibility for your own mistakes! Furthermore..."

He then went into great detail about how you made the men uncomfortable and then laid out accusations of you purposefully putting pheromones out to seduce or entice your fellow officers. Combined with your glaring, it was basically sexual harassment.

"This is insane! They get to grope and comment about me, but if I complain, it is my responsibility? But they get to just make up random bullshit about me, and I get admonished without proof!?"

"Calm down!"

"Yeah, you're being hysterical! Proving everyone completely right. It is obvious an omega can't be an officer."

Chief Markey scratched his well-groomed beard before smirking.

"But we have thought up a position for you..."

The position they had thought of was any that involved taking their knots.

Apparently, they were completely obsessed with you. A strong omega that would produce healthy babies, so resilient. But your place was riding one of their cocks, not in a dangerous job. It's why the other officers stopped harassing you when they were around. Markey and Nelson had marked you as theirs. They didn't like the others touching you, but thought it was a useful way to get you to break down, so they had an excuse to give you bad evaluations. Of course, they knew such a prideful omega would never just go along with being "reassigned," so they made sure you couldn't refuse.

They said that they'd plant evidence on you, get you fired from any new job, and track you down to the ends of the earth. No matter what, they'd ruin your life if you didn't submit.

"But don't worry, we'll let you wear the uniform and even keep the word "officer" in your title."

Nelson stroked your cheek and wiped away your tears with a rugged calloused hand.

"Yeah, you'll be our personal morale officer and take our knots every day when not working as our personal secretary."

Markey closed the blinds that hung in front of the large windows that overlooked the rest of the department and then locked the door.

"And look on the bright side. None of the other officers will give you any trouble after this."

You wanted to scream, to fight back, to run. Do anything, but take it. But that was all you could do. Well, that and cry. They had finally won. Captain Nelson wiped away your tears and pressed his lips to yours as you held back ugly sobs.

"Typical omega, so emotional. You'll feel better after you've had some good breeding."

Chief Markey made his way behind you and attended to the task of removing your uniform.

"No... no ple-"

You had started to protest somewhat loudly but were cut off by more unwanted kisses before Nelson spoke smugly.

"Now. Now. Don't want to protest too loudly and have all your coworkers hear, do you?"

You were shivering in fear.

"Don't be scared, it will all be over soon."

Markey rubbed a teasing finger around your hole.

"Oh, you're much too dry."

"We can fix that, though."

They each nibbled and gnawed a side of your neck, The Chief from behind and The Captain from the front. Your trembling in fear became involuntary quivers of pleasure.

They could tell the difference. Smell it easily. And then feel it as slick leaked from your hole and onto Markey's fingers. He left your neck to lick his thumb.

"Tastes ripe," he chuckled.

You were in such shock by the circumstances and physical stimulation that you didn't even notice when they had pulled down their pants and underwear, large throbbing cocks on full display and eager to be buried inside of you. One of them pulled out a thick blanket from beneath the desk and spread it out on top of it. They picked you up and laid you down carefully on the desk.

Ah... so that's why the desk had been cleared.

Chief Markey groped your ass while Captain Nelson held his cock in his hand and lightly smacked your face with it, smearing your face with its scent as you tightly closed your eyes. You gasped as Markey dipped his dick into you, your open mouth taken as an invitation for Nelson to slip his prick in. It tasted salty, probably from sweat and the near comical amount of precum he was producing. There was no choice but to swallow it  as he flooded your mouth.

Markey smacked your ass hard, causing you to jolt in surprise.

"Careful! I don't want them to bite my cock!"

"Sorry..."

They started out moving in tandem, Markey's thrusts pushing you onto Nelson's cock and Nelson pushing you onto Markey. But that didn't last as they began to lose themselves and go a bit feral. It only spurred them onward when you started twitching and convulsing in the pleasure that had been forced upon you, betrayed by your own body.

Deep anxiety and dread bubbled within you, but even as it did, another instinctual part of you was demanding that you submit and let your alpha mates breed you deeply. As the small room began to fill with the pheromones of two alphas and their cocks continued to plow into you, you felt your body slowly relax and become pliant to their touch.

You flinched in slight discomfort as Markey's knot swelled inside you and throbbed as he filled you with his cum. Nelson followed suit, filling your throat with his seed, but careful not to knot your mouth and risk choking you. Though that didn't stop you from gagging a bit as his nuts emptied into you.

"Oh, you haven't gotten your release yet... can't have that. What kind of mates would we be if we didn't make you feel good?"

Markey rolled his hips, moving his knot inside you until you convulsed and moaned out softly. Once his knot deflated and unbound the two of you he and Nelson swapped positions until you were brought to climax and knotted by Nelson while Markey made you suck his cock, slick with your mingled juices.

They played with you in a few other positions for over an hour until you were just a limp little sex doll. They took you on the floor, against the wall, on the desk some more, on the chairs. Your hair, face, thighs, crotch, and butt were covered in musky alpha seed. It oozed out of your hole. You were left slouched in the chair and too fucked out of your mind to do anything but mumble and drool. You were the very picture of someone who was utterly debauched.

"So quiet and well behaved. Will definitely pass a new performance review."

"Just proves that omegas need knots and not a high stress job."

To complete your new look were twin claiming bites on each side of your sensitive neck. They wiped you clean as best they could but you still absolutely reeked of cum and musk, though they didn't want their scent removed from you anyway. Nelson clothed you and covered you up with his jacket, feeling that if you were in your right mind, you wouldn't want to be seen in this state. And while he was proud of fucking you into such a stupor, the sight was for his and Markey's eyes only.

To be honest, he hadn't really wanted to share you, even with Markey. But the two of them had been old military buddies, so they decided not to let an omega come between them.

Except for when they literally had you between them.

They had come to the agreement that they would switch who you lived with weekly and share you on weekends. And of course they'd have you at work as their assistant/secretary... and as their cumdump on slow days... Captain Nelson was given the rest of the day off to get you situated and inform you of your happy new homes. You were in no state to take in new information, poor dear, but you'd be better in an hour or so.

[vhagarys]

Mother of Dragons

husband!aemond x reader

summary: traveling alone into the forest proves dangerous, an unlikely companion comes to your rescue.

warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, kidnapping, angst, protective!vhagar, minor character death, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, happy ending!

The heat of the fading sun sunk into your flushed, pink skin as you dismounted your horse and landed on the forest floor beneath you.

Ser Arryk had prevented you from venturing outside the gates of the Keep the previous afternoon, by command of your husband. You secretly loved your husbands protectiveness, knowing just how deeply he cared for you.

But, the past few days in the heat of summer made you restless.. desperate to find reprieve outside the confines of the Keep.

Since your betrothal to Aemond, time alone soon became was scarce. And though you loved spending time with Helaena and her children, your sanity required solitude.

Your mood as of late has felt a bit stale as well. The shrills of delight from your nieces and nephews, usually bringing a smile to your face, had lately become more of an annoyance.

Though you usually reveled in your handmaiden brushing through your tangles, lately you only seemed content with your lord husband’s nimble fingers massaging your scalp.

These conflicting emotions were unlike you, and you hadn’t the slightest idea what had possessed you.

While your husband and his Kingsguard met for their weekly meeting, you devised a plan to journey into the surrounding forests with your horse.

Such behavior would not be taken kindly by your husband, though you’d convinced yourself he’d come to understand your desire for peace and quiet. How easily it was for him to take to the skies on his dragon and escape the world below when he craved solitude.

Such luxuries were not available for you. Thus, in the small hours of morning, you managed to evade the guards outside the stables and venture into the forest.

The air was fresh and earthy. Breezes filled with the scents of dew and grass whisked through the holes of your gown’s laces, sending goose prickles across your skin.

Silence enveloped you, save for the occasional ruffling of leaves and grunt from your horse. You sighed in relief as your feet met the soft cushioning of the forest floor.

Haphazardly, you removed your riding jacket and slung it over a low hanging branch. The shimmering reflections off the lake pulled you close. Like the sweet melodies of a siren’s voice, you couldn’t help but move closer to until you reached the shore of the water.

Before you knew it, you began removing the laces of your riding boots. Feet bare, you crept closer to the shallow edges of the lake.

Your horse broke your trance, stomping his feet and neighing loudly in your direction. Your head snapped to assess what caused the outburst, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“Just a while longer, sweet girl,” you soothed, hoping to calm your companion long enough for you to enjoy the cool water a bit more.

Turning back towards the vast blue, your toes finally met the shallow river banks. A loud sigh escaped you as you inched further into the lake. The ends of your skirt were soon submerged, thoroughly soaking through the multiple layers of fabric.

A delicious chill crept up your spine as you reveled in the cool reprieve, oblivious to the world around you.

So entranced, your ears failed to register the sharp cry from your horse, warning you of the dangers approaching.

Fast, booming footsteps overwhelmed you before you had time to regain your bearings.

You screamed in pure terror as large hands harshly pulled at your arms, two sizeable men yanking you out of the water.

“Stop! Please! Please, you’re hurting me,” your horse continued to stomp his feet, crying out loudly at your scared state.

The taller of the two, with scars litterings his cheeks and forehead, smiled wickedly at your wreathing form. He effectively subdued your flailing limbs with an arm slithered around your neck, tight enough to scare you into submission.

“If I’d a known it was this easy to get my hands on you, I’d have paid you a visit much sooner, lady Y/N.” Tears blurred your vision as the other man stood in front of you and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

Fear consumed you, the dread of being so far removed from anyone who could rescue you.

“Aemond! Aem-”

The man clamped his hand around your mouth. You thrashed in his hold, kicking with all your might as the other man crowded your space and gripped your face with his calloused hands.

“If I were the prince, I’d of never let you out of my sights. You’re quite the specimen, my lady. Just lookin at ya makes me hard.”

Bile rose up your throat at his vulgar words. You averted your eyes from him despite his proximity, praying to any gods that were listening to save you.

His smile only grew wider. He pressed himself closer, until you felt his hardness against you.

Your screams were muffled by the hand smothering your mouth, and your throat began to burn from overuse.

“I bet,” his hand moved down to roughly grope at your left breast, “you’ve got a tight little cunt hidden under all those layers, eh? I bet I could fuck you better then that one-eyed prick ever-”

You managed to break your right leg free from its constraints and deliver a solid kick between his legs, causing him to groan loudly and stumble backwards.

“You fucking bitch!” The sting of his hand against your cheek throbbed painfully as your head whipped to the side.

His hands gripped the top of your bodice, and promptly ripped through the front of your gown, exposing your breasts.

“You wanna play this game with me? Huh? Lucky for you, I love when they fight back.” His eyes were as black as the nights sky as the man behind you grunted in agreement, pressing himself to your buttocks.

Suddenly, a menacing growl boomed through the clouds. Your captors froze and jerked their heads to the skies.

A large shadow engulfed the entirety of the lake, the three of you swallowed in the dark clouds.

One of the men backed away from you, his eyes bulging out of its sockets.

“Don’t fucking tell me it’s a” the roars grew louder as a large green mass descended from the skies.

Vhagar.

The men watched in horror as the dragon set its course towards the three of you.

Aemond, he’s here.

A rush of relief shot through you, but to your confusion, there was no rider atop the fearsome beast.

Vhagar landed in the lake. You couldn’t help but shake in fear as the dragon, much like yourself, had ventured unaccompanied by your husband.

She leaned her neck down, and you were met face to face with her large, black pupils.

Your body collided with the forest floor as the man once holding you shoved you towards the dragon.

“Here! Take her, we mean no harm, please!” The scarred mean shrieked in terror, frozen in place while his friend bolted into the forest.

A sharp pain from your belly caused you to visibly wince, whimpering audibly as you cradled yourself.

You felt the air from her snout as she leaned towards you, and gently nudged your shaking form as if to console you.

I know you. I will not harm you. You could hear the unspoken words as you craned your head to meet her eyes.

Tears continued to fall as you lay still on the forest floor, any attempts of moving sent shockwaves of pain through your body.

Rustling behind you redirected Vhagars attention. The man was slowly creeping away, and you noted the wet stain on the front of his trousers.

She took a booming step forward, and before you knew it one of her large, veiny wings encompassed your limp body.

Your line of sight was blanketed by the fine networking of scars and holes littered across her wings. It was easy to forget how long she had been alive, how many wars she had fought in.

Your heart cracked at the thought.

Vhagar’s screech bounced off the trees of the forest, and you only wished you could see the man’s expression before you felt the warmth of dragon fire through her wings.

His screams quickly diminished as his form disentegrated from the merciless flames.

She huffed the last bits of smoke in her snout towards his ashes. You shivered as the cool breeze glided over your exposed nipples, dress still damp from your venture into the lake.

Vhagar let out another series of roars, these sounding almost sad, helpless.

“Y/N!” his voice tore through the branches and you knew your husband had come.

Still hidden beneath her wings, he galloped towards his dragon unaware of your shivering body.

“Skoriot iksos ziry, Vhagar,” your husband’s voice was filled with anguish.

(Where is she)

You tried to conjure up a reply, yet all you could muster was a whimper.

Vhagar growled disapprovingly at him. Carefully, she removed her wing and his eyes grew wide as he witnessed you tucked beneath his dragons limbs.

He rushed towards you and fell to his knees. Guilt surged through him as he witnessed the state of your clothes, the layers goose prickles fixed on your skin.

I failed her.

He covered you in his riding leathers and began to inspect the redness on your cheeks.

“My love, I am sorry, I am so sorry. I should’ve-”

You shook your head softly. “The fault is mine, my love. I-I snuck out without your knowing, it was wrong of me-.”

He watched in horror as you winced and grabbed at your belly, his own hand reaching out instinctively to console you.

His eyes were ablaze in fury, that anyone would dare to lay hands on you. Picturing you alone and afraid filled him with a fire that was foreign and all-consuming.

“Prince Aemond!” Two kingsgaurd cautiously approached the three of you, bringing forth a heavily beaten man struggling to escape their grasp.

“I’ve done nothing! Let me go, please! Please!”

“We found him fleeing from the forest, figured he played some part in injuring the princess”, they ignored the man’s pleas.

Aemond met your gaze and you nodded. He growled and went to unsheath his dagger and bury it in the man’s neck. Weakly, your fingers clutched at his sleeve and murmured, “Please don’t leave me, not now.”

Your words were droplets of water dousing his flames, his eyes softened at the sight of his beautiful wife.

He nodded, lightly wiping away a fallen tear. He was riddled with guilt at you feeling the need to sneak away to have some time to yourself.

The war had made him untrusting towards others, afraid to let anyone too close to you in fear they may harm you.

He’d been so wrapped up in fruitless council meetings that he’d neglected his favorite person.

His person.

Aemond scooped you into his arms, kissing you lightly atop your forehead before turning to his dragon.

“Kirimvose raqiros,” he looked into her large orbs. They swam with worry, he sensed it.

(Thank you, friend)

Gently, the fearsome dragon lowered her head and softly nudged the hand cradling your belly.

You were touched by such an act of gentleness from your husbands companion.

Smiling, you lifted your fingers to caress her snout, and offered a small “thank you, friend” before your husband mounted you atop his horse and took you home to see the maester.

——

“Well, my princess. There will be slight bruising on your abdomen and on your cheek. Nothing that will be permanent, thankfully,” the maester shuffled around the bed and place a pouch of ice to your temple.

You winced slightly.

“I’m glad to hear it, Maester Orwylle. Can you call for my husband, he’ll be delighted to hear such news.”

The maester grinned.

“My princess, I believe there are other good tidings from my examination. You are with child, your grace, a healthy one from the looks of it.“

Your eyes widened.

Tears of joy gathered in your eyes as your hands shot down to caress your belly.

“But the fall, Maester-”

“Your fall did not disturb the babe, thank the heavens. From my observations, it appears your are 4 weeks along.”

4 weeks?!

And you’d been none the wiser. Though, that was likely to explain your uncharacteristic moods as of late.

A tentative knock came at the door.

“May I come in?” your husbands soothing voice seeped through the cracks of the doors.

Maester Orwylle grinned lightly, “I will leave you two alone.”

He opened the doors and bowed lightly to the prince.

“Congratulations, my prince,” was all he offered before he retreated down the corridor.

Slightly bewildered, he quickly approached your bed and kissed the top of your hand. Anxiety radiated off of him as he scanned over your face for any signs of discomfort.

“My love, what did the maester say? Is everything alright?”

Your fingers intertwined with his. You sniffled and moved his hands to rest atop your bruised belly.

“We’re just fine, dear husband.”

A couple moments ticked by in silence as he processed your words

“We?“ he paused, “You mean, are you-” you nodded, beaming at your husband as you added,

“I’m with child, my love. Our child.”

Aemond sunk to his knees. Fingers still twined, you felt his tears seep through your bandage wrappings from the maesters. He peppered small kisses across your skin.

“No harm will come to either of you. From this day, I swear it on my life,” his words were fierce, yet his tone was light.

“Perhaps Vhagar will let me ride her, take our child on a little adventure,” you mused, thinking back to earlier.

She knew. Vhagar knew of the babe growing in your belly. With her and your husband together, no harm would ever dare come to your child.

You closed your eyes and reveled in the comfort of the moment.

Aemond chuckled lightly, nodding his head.

“Something to look forward to…They may claim a dragon too one day, just as their father once did.”

A roar echoed from the gates of the dragon pit.

authors note: vhagar is a softie, confirmed. husband aemond is starting to become my fav trope, enjoy <3

- alice +++

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 9 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse » 【note, this chapter contains possessiveness, naoya is yandere and not in a hot way, lol. suggestive content and fluff.

ꨄ words: 14.3k

ꨄ a/n. hello darlings, i know it's only been a week but happy early valentines day, here is my gift to you, hehe. it's time to say hi to naoya. this chapter gives you a few different perspectives, but most of it is satoru's! see you at the bottom ♡ (art by @/dmsco1803 on X )

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter → pending

ch 9 // blood and betrayal

"We have a couple of hours before they come back," Remi murmurs, her manicured nails pressing into the polished wood as she eases the door open, just enough for a figure to slip inside.

And Naoya steps over the threshold without hesitation, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

Gojo’s estate.

It’s even more extravagant than he imagined—pristine marble stretching out beneath his feet, ceilings so high they seem to loom over him, the decor screaming wealth in a way that makes his teeth clench. Everything here is polished, excessive, a testament to the kind of power Satoru Gojo wields without even trying.

Naoya’s fingers flex at his sides, hidden beneath the sleeves of his jacket.

Tch. Flashy bastard.

Adjusting the brim of his cap, sunglasses shield the sharp glint of his gaze as he sweeps the space. He moves with caution, but not fear.

"Where’s the brat?" he mutters.

“Playing,” Remi replies, flicking a dismissive hand before slinking closer, nails skimming along his arm like she’s entitled to touch him.

Those brown eyes of hers glow with a desperate hunger—wide, hopeful, pathetic. Pressing in, her lips are just shy of Naoya’s ear.

“She won’t bother us…” she murmurs.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, he resists the urge to shove her off.

Lapdog.

She’s eager, too eager—always hanging off him like she’s something more than just a convenient distraction. He indulges her, when it suits him. And when it doesn’t? She’s still useful.

With a slight turn of his head, he allows his lips to almost graze the shell of her ear as he murmurs flatly, “The office.”

Remi shivers, mistaking his cold disinterest for something else.

“Right this way,” she hums, syrupy sweet, pleased with herself. “I’ll keep the kid busy, don’t want her recognizing you.”

Naoya doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at her as he steps past. Why would he waste breath on something insignificant? No. His mind is elsewhere, locked on a singular purpose.

Leverage. Dirt. Anything he can sink his teeth into.

When he enters the office, it’s eerily still—clean, untouched. It’s clear that Gojo’s staff keep it impeccably tidy. His gaze sweeps over the space and he catalogues every detail—rich mahogany bookshelves, a sleek black leather chair, floor-to-ceiling windows. The space feels open, exposed. Naoya’s lips curl slightly.

Tch. Everything about this room screams control. No paranoia. No signs of disarray. Just an effortless sense of power. Cocky bastard.

As he moves further inside, his eyes zero in on a single framed photograph, placed at the center of Satoru’s desk. With slow, measured steps, he rounds the desk, fingers trailing lightly over its surface before he lifts the frame into his hands. Immediately, his smirk vanishes.

You. Holding that little brat in your arms, smiling like you belong here. Like this life fits you. Like you’re—

Happy.

You should be his.

His jaw tightens as his fingers curl around the frame, the glass creaking under pressure. For a split second, an ugly thought slithers into his mind—he should shatter it. He should put his fist straight through the grinning faces staring back at him.

But instead, he exhales sharply through his nose and flips the frame face down, watching as it lands with a muted thud against the desk.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Moving on, his fingers trail along the desk’s edges before he crouches slightly, pulling open the first drawer without resistance.

Folders. Contracts. Documents marked with Gojo Corp’s insignia.

Naoya’s smirk twitches.

Idiot.

His phone is out in an instant, the soft click of the camera breaking the thick silence of the office.

Click. Click. Click.

He doesn’t bother reading them. No need. He just snaps photos of anything that might be useful—financial records, legal paperwork, contract renewals. Everything is neatly labeled, categorized, almost too easy to find.

Fucking cocky bastard.

And Naoya moves with purpose, each movement fluid, efficient. This isn’t his first time going through someone’s private affairs—but it is the first time he’s had to do it himself. Normally, this would be a job for someone else. A grunt. Someone disposable.

But things have changed.

With Toji rotting in prison, the damn Yakuza have begun distancing themselves ever since he got released, treating the Zenin like liabilities rather than assets. Their once-limitless resources are dwindling, and with every door that closes in his face, Naoya only feels his hatred grow.

His fingers tighten around the handle of another drawer, yanking it open. He can’t wait to bring Satoru Gojo down. But when he reaches for the last drawer, the one at the bottom—his grip stills. It doesn’t budge.

Locked.

His smirk sharpens.

What are you hiding, Satoru Gojo?

Kneeling slightly, his fingers brush along the handle as he pulls a small, thin tool from his pocket. The lock isn’t complicated—nothing particularly advanced, and it takes seconds. The soft click of the latch releasing is almost satisfying, and as he pulls it open, his smirk widens. But the moment its contents are revealed, he immediately looks down to find—

Nothing.

His eyes narrow as his amusement flickers.

Hm... a distraction? Which means whatever matters isn’t here.

Rolling his shoulders, Naoya exhales sharply before straightening to his full height. He’s wasting time. If Gojo was smart enough not to keep anything incriminating here, then whatever he is keeping must be somewhere more personal.

Upstairs.

His gaze drops to his Rolex watch, then to the door. He still has time. He’ll just have to go deeper.

The house remains unnervingly silent as he ascends the staircase, the kind of quiet that isn’t natural. Most of Gojo’s staff have been paid off for their silence, their loyalty nothing more than a transaction.

Money makes everything easier, doesn’t it?

His fingers trail the smooth banister, and once he reaches the top, he pauses—scanning the hallway. Up here, something feels different… strangely satisfying. Because downstairs had been designed to impress—Gojo’s domain, pristine and curated—a place meant to be seen.

But up here? Up here, the walls breathe. This is where you live.

As his gaze sweeps over the doors lining the hall, he can’t help but notice how everything is perfectly symmetrical—expensive, identical. No labels, no indications, no clues. Just a row of polished wood, concealing whatever lies behind them.

Which one is Gojo’s?

Naoya moves methodically, ghosting through the hallway, and each door he opens only fuels his irritation. A guestroom. A bathroom. A library. He exhales sharply through his nose.

This place is a fucking maze.

His hand falls on the next doorknob, twisting it without hesitation, but the moment it swings open, something inside him stills. Because this isn’t Gojo’s room.

It’s yours.

His fingers flex at his sides.

Fuck…

He shouldn’t waste time. Remi said he only has a few hours. He should keep moving, should focus—but something ugly and possessive coils tight in his chest, sinking its claws into something raw and unsatisfied. And suddenly, his feet are moving on their own.

The door clicks shut behind him, and he immediately can tell that this space is different from the others. Warm. Soft. Laced with something distinctly you—a scent he remembers too well, woven into the very air, clinging to the fabrics, the furniture, the walls.

It doesn’t belong in a house like this.

The rest of the estate drowns in wealth, in cold opulence, in a luxury that doesn’t need to announce itself. And this room is expensive too, of course. Everything about your life is different now. But this—

This is yours.

A sweater draped lazily over a chair. A vanity lined with delicate bottles of perfume, small trinkets carefully arranged as if placed by habit rather than thought. Jewelry. Makeup. Some of it familiar. Things that once belonged in his world. Things that were once his to admire. His jaw clenches as he is reminded yet again.

You’re settled here. Comfortable—

Happy.

Pushing a breath through his nose, his eyes drift toward the far end of the room. An open walk-in closet. Of fucking-course Gojo would give you a closet this big. And so, he moves towards it without thinking, but the moment he steps inside, his fingers flex at his sides.

Fucking hell.

Expensive gowns hang neatly along the racks, luxurious fabrics brushing against his fingertips as he trails them over silk, satin, designer labels—clothes that he knows you wouldn’t have worn before. Not when you were with him. But now, it’s not his money dressing you in these delicate, expensive things. It’s Gojo’s.

Gojo has spoiled you.

Lavishing you in luxuries you never had before—never needed. With Naoya, nothing was ever simply given. No matter how much money he had, you were never entitled to it, and you knew better than to ask.

No—with Naoya, you had to earn things. Had to prove you were worthy of them. Had to be grateful for whatever he decided you deserved. And he let you believe in the illusion of security while ensuring you always needed him.

And you did. You always did.

Or at least… you were supposed to.

The realization curdles something deep in his stomach, a slow, simmering heat that coils tight and bitter in his chest. As his fingers linger over a dress, smooth satin, he can envision you in it and his grip tightens.

Money-hungry bitch.

The thought snaps through his mind like a whip, sharp and instinctive, and he exhales slowly through his nose, forcing his fingers to relax before he rips the damn thing. And so, with measured restraint, he releases the fabric and turns away.

But he’s not done.

His gaze flickers toward your dresser now—a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

What else has Gojo given you?

As he trails his fingers across the glossy surface, tracing idle patterns into the polished wood, he realizes just how untouched it is—pristine, perfectly maintained—like everything in this house. Like you now, perfectly packaged, living in a world of expensive indulgence. A world you should have never been given.

When he reaches for the first drawer, it glides open with ease, and his breath slows. Lace. Satin. Sheer mesh. You always had good taste. His fingers slip between the layers, sinking into the delicate garments—the fragile trim of lace panties, the silken slide of fabric that was made to be touched.

Made to be stripped off you.

He lingers, debating something darker, but he exhales sharply, and with little ceremony, he tosses the garment back, sliding the drawer shut. Still, the fixation doesn’t fade. If anything, it sharpens.

His gaze drifts to your vanity—a curated shrine of excess. Delicate trinkets, expensive perfumes, meticulously placed cosmetics. A testament to the life you’ve built here. A life you have no right to.

God… he barely recognizes you anymore.

Seeing you at that first charity gala, poised and polished as if you had always belonged in this world, had made his stomach churn. Everything about you had been refined, reshaped, rebranded—until you fit. Until you looked the part of someone who belonged here.

And the worst part?

It suited you. Too well. You looked fucking gorgeous.

Something catches his eye on the vanity—a single tube of lipstick. It stands upright among the rest, and without hesitation, he reaches for it, rolling the cool metal between his fingers, feeling its weight settle in his palm. His breath slows as he uncaps it, twisting the base with careful precision.

The stick rises—smooth, untouched.

Deep red.

The kind of red he’s seen on you before, painted over your lips, smudged at the corners, slick and ruined. The kind of red that stains. You had always left your mark.

He wonders if you still do…

Something bitter simmers in his chest, boiling hot, because the thought of you—fucking Satoru Gojo? Oh, he sees red—the same deep red of that pretty little lipstick.

Jaw tightening, he inhales sharply through his nose, forcing himself to shake it off, to think. His gaze shifts, flickering toward your bed, and the tension in his chest loosens just slightly, amusement creeping in.

Separate beds.

His teeth graze his bottom lip as he exhales, slow and controlled. Maybe Toji was fucking with him. Because there was no way you were actually sleeping with Gojo. No. You wouldn’t.

With a quiet click, he shuts the lipstick, placing it back with calculated precision, exactly where he found it. But just as he moves to step away, a subtle glint of silver against the vanity’s surface catches his line of sight.

A heart-shaped locket.

His brow twitches as he reaches for it, fingers brushing over the delicate chain before lifting it into his palm. It’s light. Fragile. But he knows better. Sentimental things like this always carry more weight than they should.

His thumb presses against the tiny clasp, prying it open with careful precision. But the moment it clicks apart, everything inside him stills.

Your smiling face stares back at him—bright, radiant—pressed against Gojo’s side. His lips graze your cheek, your fingers curled around his sleeve, clinging to him.

Something snaps.

A fire ignites in his chest, hot and consuming, scorching every last thread of restraint he has left. His breath pushes through his nose in slow, seething exhales as something bitter coils tight in his throat.

How dare you.

How fucking dare you.

That should be his.

His life.

His claim.

His fingers clench into a fist at his side, nails biting deep into his palm, but the pain barely registers. His grip only tightens—tighter, tighter—until something warm, something wet, slips between his fingers.

He blinks, a dull ache spreading through his palm. Then, the color registers.

Blood.

His own nails have carved into his skin, deep and unrelenting, the slow trickle slipping down his wrist, speckling the plush carpet, staining the floor beneath him.

Tch. Sloppy.

“Fuck…” The curse is low, sharp—a quiet snarl as he forces himself to inhale, prying his fingers open. The sting of torn flesh burns now, but he barely feels it. He wants to shatter the locket. Wants to crush it beneath his boot, grind it into the floor, leave it in ruins.

But no. That would look suspicious.

With measured care, he sets it back onto the vanity, his fingers steady despite the tension locking his jaw. Exhaling through his nose, he shakes his head and steps back, scanning the room—calculating his next move.

Bathroom.

Without another thought, he turns on his heel, striding toward the en-suite. As soon as he enters, he pulls open the nearest cabinet, snatching a neatly folded hand towel. The white cloth darkens instantly, soaking through with red as he wraps it tightly around his injured hand—twisting the fabric to apply pressure. It’ll hold for now.

His gaze shifts toward the opposite end of the bathroom—to the second door—the one leading to Gojo’s room.

Finally.

With quiet, measured steps, he crosses the room, fingers curling around the handle. The door gives with ease, swinging open into a space that grates against his nerves the moment he steps inside.

Everything about this room pisses him off.

It’s too open, too spacious—like Gojo needs the entire goddamn house to accommodate his oversized ego. High ceilings, sprawling windows, furniture arranged with an effortless elegance that speaks of obscene wealth, yet complete indifference toward it.

Naoya moves with purpose, tearing through Gojo’s things with sharp, practiced efficiency. Drawers snap open, their contents rifled through and discarded without care. Watches, expensive cufflinks—all useless.

…Digimon cards? The fuck is this?

He exhales sharply, irritation mounting. None of it matters. He’s looking for something else. Something he can use. Something—

The next drawer slides open—his breath slows.

Fabric. Soft, delicate. Not Gojo’s.

Your panties.

Here.

In his drawer.

As his fingers brush against the lace, his breath sharpens—fully registering what he’s holding. The material is familiar—the color, unmistakable. His favorite pair.

Realization seeps in, cold and ugly. He grips them tighter, lifting them slightly, rubbing the fabric between his fingers again, slower this time. The answer is instant, undeniable.

They’re used.

Recently.

His stomach twists, a sharp, curdling heat spreading through his ribs as he raises them to his face without thinking—closing his eyes to inhale.

The scent is instant.

The reaction is immediate. His head buzzes with static, a roaring white noise as something vile slithers through him, coiling, sinking deep. It spreads through his chest like rot, like poison, acidic and suffocating.

You’re fucking him.

This isn’t speculation. This isn’t a lie he can tell himself, a suspicion he can twist to suit his own reality. This is proof. Right here. In another man’s drawer. Taunting him. Mocking him. Stained with the remnants of whatever the fuck you did this morning.

“Whore,” he spits the word out through clenched teeth as he shoves the lace deep into his pocket.

His fingers twitch, his whole body vibrating with the urge to destroy, to ruin, to rip every trace of Gojo out of your life until you have no choice but to remember who you belong to. He should burn this entire fucking house to the ground. Should leave nothing behind but ash.

But not here.

Not now.

Not yet.

Grinding his molars, he rips his phone from his pocket, pulling up your contact with a punishing force. His vision blurs at the edges, rage surging through him like a live wire as his thumb flies across the screen.

At first, he doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate. The words spill out, venomous, ugly, a raw, unfiltered snarl of possession and rage.

You little fucking whore. Did you spread your legs for him? You’re nothing without me. I swear to god I’m going to teach you a fucking lesson.

His chest rises and falls with sharp, seething breaths as he stares at the message. His anger, his unraveling, right there in damning black and white. The message hovers, unsent, his thumb poised—

No.

A sharp exhale flares through his nose, and he begins to tap delete. One by one, the words vanish, swallowed by the empty space they leave behind.

He may be seeing red, but he’s not stupid. No. He’s better than this. Smarter than this. Leaving proof would be careless, would be something Gojo could use against him.

Instead, he reels himself in, inhales through his nose, forces himself to recalibrate. He types again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s careful. A reminder—a whisper of something softer.

Something that he knows will send you spiraling.

We need to talk. When can I see you? Just... be good for me.

The second it’s sent, he exhales, forcing his shoulders to roll back, his body still vibrating with barely restrained fury. His eyes track the screen, watching the small confirmation appear.

Delivered.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he rolls his neck, stretching out the tension coiled tight in his muscles. He knows you won’t respond right away—you never do. You’ll hesitate, you’ll overthink. But in the end, you always come back. You always give in.

For now, he still has work to do.

His gaze flicks back to the room, scanning once more, searching. Then he sees it.

A safe.

Tucked neatly into the corner of the closet, hidden but not invisible. The kind of thing most people wouldn’t think twice about, but Naoya’s trained eye spots it instantly. A smirk tugs at his lips as he steps forward, crouching slightly. His fingers skim over the dial, testing the resistance. Locked.

Of course it is.

No matter. He’s cracked safes before. It just takes time. He presses his ear close, ready to test the first turn—

But then, a sharp buzz vibrates in his pocket.

His head snaps down, irritation flickering in his expression as he pulls his phone out. And the second he sees the screen, his breath stills for half a second.

Your name. Your response. Faster than he expected.

Okay. You want to talk, so let’s talk. Tomorrow. Noon. Shirogane Park.

His lips press into a thin line. For a split second, he lingers on it, surprised at the speed. At the fact that you agreed so easily. But before he can sit on the thought for too long, his gaze flicks to the time displayed on his phone—

“Shit...”

The safe will have to wait. He doesn’t have time to crack it now.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Naoya pushes off his knees and moves, retracing his steps down the hall. He’s wasted time—too much fucking time. He should be gone by now, should have what he came for—whatever’s inside that safe—but instead, he’s leaving empty-handed, bleeding, and pissed the fuck off.

By the time he reaches the foyer, Remi is already waiting near the entrance, shifting from foot to foot. The moment she sees him, her eyes widen, flickering down to his wrapped hand.

"Naoya, what—?" Her hands reach out instinctively, fingers barely grazing his arm before he shrugs her off, stepping past her without a glance.

She hurries after him, undeterred. "You're hurt," she presses, her voice laced with something too close to genuine concern. "What happened?"

"Not your fucking business." His tone is clipped, dismissive. When she flinches, he barely suppresses an irritated sigh.

Her hands hover near his injured one again, hesitant but persistent. “You’re bleeding all over—let me—”

"Who's that?"

Naoya freezes.

A chill spreads through Naoya’s limbs, stiffening his spine as he turns his head, slow and deliberate, toward the source of the voice.

A little girl. His little girl.

Haru stands just beyond the doorway, small fingers curled into the hem of her dress, wide, curious eyes flicking between them.

His stomach knots, breath hitching before he catches himself. His disguise holds—cap pulled low, sunglasses shielding his face—but for a split second, something ugly and panicked churns in his gut.

Does she recognize him? Can she?

His fingers twitch.

Remi recovers first, voice high-pitched, too eager to smooth over the tension. "Oh, sweetheart, he's just my friend," she coos, stepping forward quickly, placing a gentle hand on Haru’s shoulder. "But he’s leaving now.”

Haru tilts her head slightly, staring at him a moment longer. Naoya doesn’t breathe. Then, to his surprise, she nods.

"Okay."

His shoulders relax—just slightly, relief fleeting—until—

“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”

He barely has time to process the question before she follows it up with something far worse.

"I like 'toru’s sunglasses more."

A slow, seething heat spreads through his chest, curling around his ribs, tightening like a vice.

Remi laughs, nervous and rushed. "Oh, honey, you’re so silly!" She reaches out, smoothing a hand over Haru’s hair, a little too eager to redirect. "Why don’t you go play, baby? I’ll be right there, okay?"

Haru looks at Naoya once more—just a glance, just long enough to make something curdle inside him—before nodding and skipping back down the hall.

The second she’s out of sight, Naoya rounds on Remi.

"You let the fucking kid see me?" His voice is sharp, cutting, barely above a whisper but full of venom.

Remi flinches. "I—I didn’t know she was still up—"

"Sloppy," he spits, stepping closer, heat radiating off him in waves. "You’re fucking sloppy, Remi. I told you to keep an eye on her. That’s your only fucking job."

"I know, I—"

"You’re fucking useless."

Her lips part, breath hitching as her face crumples, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Pathetic. Annoying.

He exhales sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders, forcing himself to cool down. "Just… be good for me, yeah?" His voice dips lower, smoother, but the bite is still there, lethal beneath the softness. "Go upstairs and clean up the blood before they come back."

Remi swallows, nodding quickly before turning on her heel and hurrying up the stairs, her movements rushed, frantic.

Naoya watches her go, jaw tight, fingers flexing at his sides.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.

ꨄ

The limo glides to a stop, the soft hum of the engine fading as Ichiji shifts into park. You exhale, rolling your shoulders, trying to shake off the weight of the day. The golden hues of the setting sun spill across the Gojo estate, stretching long shadows over the driveway. But even the familiar sight of home does little to ease the tightness in your chest.

Beside you, Satoru lets out a slow sigh, shifting the thick folder of paperwork in his lap. His long legs stretch out in front of him, casual, unbothered—like the weight of today hasn’t been pressing into him, too. His sunglasses still rest on the bridge of his nose, but you can feel his gaze settle on you.

“You okay?”

You nod, reaching for the door handle just as Ichiji steps out to open it for you. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

It’s not a lie—the day has been long, mentally draining in ways you haven’t fully processed yet. Between the looming custody battle, the exhausting legal back-and-forth with Suguru, and the ever-present weight of Naoya’s shadow curling around your mind, your body feels like it’s made of lead.

Satoru hums, shifting the folder under his arm. “Suguru said to bring your documents next time,” he reminds you. “Both for the child support and the ones Naoya served you.”

You nod, stepping out onto the driveway. “Yeah… they should still be in my nightstand.”

Satoru follows after you, stretching his arms above his head before tilting his head with an exaggerated hum. “Your nightstand, huh?” a slow smirk curls on his lips. “Hope I don’t find anything scandalous.”

Rolling your eyes, you nudge him lightly with your elbow as you pass. “Shut up.”

His laughter follows you as you step through the entrance, but before you can say anything else, the sound of little feet pattering against the hardwood echoes from down the hall.

“Mama!”

Haru’s voice rings bright, lifting the heaviness from your chest in an instant. Before you can react, she’s already barreling toward you, small arms wrapping tight around your legs.

Your heart softens, exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you crouch to her level, brushing a hand through her hair. “Hey, baby,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Did you have fun today?”

She nods enthusiastically, rocking on her heels. “We watched a movie! I drew a picture—oh! Come look Mama!”

You smile, smoothing back a stray strand of hair. “I’d love to see it.”

Satoru steps past you, shifting the folder under his arm. “I’ll grab your papers,” he says, already making his way toward the stairs.

You nod absentmindedly, barely registering his words as Haru tugs at your hand, leading you eagerly toward the living room.

Taking the stairs at an easy pace, Satoru moves with unhurried strides, letting the faint hum of conversation from downstairs settle in the background. The house is quiet, undisturbed—yet as he nears your room, something feels… off.

A figure kneels in front of your vanity, back turned to him, her posture hunched, the rhythmic sound of fabric scrubbing against the carpet breaking the silence. Satoru slows—steps light, gaze sharpening.

Remi?

She doesn’t notice him at first, too focused on whatever the hell she’s doing, her shoulders rigid as she drags a damp rag over the floor in slow, deliberate strokes. The sharp scent of cleaner lingers in the air, but it does little to mask what she’s trying to erase.

Red.

Satoru leans against the doorframe, arms folding over his chest. “What’s that?”

Remi jolts, her body going stiff before she turns halfway, eyes widening like a cornered animal. But she recovers quickly, straightening as she tucks the rag into a small plastic bucket beside her.

“Oh—just cleaning up,” she says too lightly, too quickly. “I—I spilled something earlier. Cut myself while wiping it up. Nothing serious.”

Satoru quirks a brow, his gaze dropping to her hands.

No cuts. No bandages. No blood on her fingers.

His eyes shift back to the stain, lingering just a second too long. The silence stretches between them.

Then, he exhales through his nose, pushing off the doorframe. “Be more careful next time,” he mutters, brushing past her as he steps inside your room.

She nods quickly, relief flickering across her face as she turns back to her scrubbing.

He should press further. Should ask why the hell there’s blood on your carpet. Should question why she looks like she’s barely holding herself together under his gaze. But he doesn��t

Because he’s exhausted.

Because today has drained him in ways he doesn’t have the energy to unpack.

Because he’s trying—really fucking trying—to make sure you’re at ease.

Safe.

You need to feel safe. That much is non-negotiable.

The way you reacted to Naoya’s text? He’s never seen you like that before. That single message sent you spiraling, and he saw it all—the way the color drained from your face, how your breathing turned uneven, how you couldn’t even look at the screen without your hands shaking.

That wasn’t just fear. That was something deeper. Something lived in. And that pisses him off more than he knows how to put into words.

His jaw clenches as he moves toward your nightstand, pulling the drawer open with ease. Just as expected, the crisp stack of legal documents sits exactly where you left them. His fingers curl around the papers, grip tightening just a little too much.

Naoya… fucking prick.

Satoru already had enough reasons to hate the bastard, but now? Now it’s different. Because this isn’t about old grudges or petty feuds—this is about you.

Shaking off the slow burn simmering under his skin, he takes the papers, shuts the drawer with a quiet thud, and heads back downstairs.

His steps remain unhurried, just as they were before, but his mind isn’t. Irritation lingers at the edges of his composure, gnawing at him, but he shoves it down, forcing it into that familiar compartment where he locks away everything that threatens to throw him off balance.

By the time he reaches the first floor, the hum of conversation between you and Haru filters in from the living room, grounding him just enough. Without a word, he moves past the foyer, pivoting toward his office with the folder tucked securely under his arm.

The door clicks shut behind him, sealing him into the quiet. Everything is just as he left it—pristine, precise. Unlike his office at Gojo Corp, which is more of a curated disaster, this space is controlled. Every document stacked neatly, every file aligned with sharp precision, not a single thing out of order.

And yet… something doesn’t sit right.

His fingers drum against the polished wood of his desk as his gaze sweeps over the room. Nothing is visibly out of place, but there’s a nagging itch at the back of his mind, something subtle but persistent, like an off note in an otherwise perfect melody.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s nothing.

Satoru has never needed much sleep. Four hours is a luxury, three is the standard, and anything less? Just another part of his reality. He’s learned to function on exhaustion, to push through it with the same effortless charm that convinces everyone he’s untouchable, unbothered—unaffected by the weight pressing down on him.

It’s just another mask. One he wears so well, even he forgets it’s there sometimes.

And now, ever since he took over Gojo Corp, the days have stretched longer, the nights shorter. The weight of responsibility never really eases. But with Naoya clawing his way back into your life, with the custody battle looming like a goddamn storm cloud, sleep is even more of an afterthought. Especially since he’s been working on something for you.

His jaw tightens slightly as he exhales, rolling his shoulders.

He hasn’t told you yet—not because he’s hiding it, but because he wants it to be a surprise. A fully staffed, fully equipped on-site daycare at Gojo Corp. Something designed with you in mind. Because he never wants any of his employees to go through the same bullshit you did before you married him. He remembers it too well—how you had to balance everything alone, how the world made it so damn difficult for a single mother to simply exist without constantly fighting for scraps.

He never wants you to worry about that again. And if he can make sure no one else has to deal with it either? Then it’s worth every sleepless night.

Still.

His gaze flickers to the folders on his desk. They look untouched—stacked neatly where he left them. But something nags at him. As he slides one open, flipping through the pages, everything is in order. No missing documents. No sign that anything’s been moved.

So why does it feel like they have?

He’s about to dismiss the feeling entirely, chalk it up to exhaustion, but then his eyes land on something else. His photo—one of you and Haru—lying face down on his desk.

His breath stills for half a second. Did he leave it like that?

Frowning, he reaches out, flipping it over with careful precision. His thumb drags along the edge of the frame, his jaw tightening as something uncoils low in his gut—but he pushes it away.

Nah… It’s fine.

It has to be fine.

He’s too fucking tired to dwell on it. Too drained to pick apart another thread when everything else is already unraveling at once. He needs to reset. A shower, maybe? Wash off the weight of the day, let the hot water unknot the tension clinging to his body.

Or maybe… something else. A different kind of relief.

Your panties.

Still tucked away in his dresser, untouched since his last indulgence in you. The thought alone sends a slow, simmering heat curling low in his stomach, exhaustion momentarily pushed aside by something darker, something hungrier.

Yeah. A ‘shower’ sounds good.

Rolling his shoulders, he stands, dragging a hand over his jaw as he steps out of his office. The sound of your voice drifts through the house, light and warm, blending with Haru’s bright giggles. It stops him for a fraction of a second, just long enough to take it in.

That sound—it’s starting to feel like something he craves.

When he steps into the living room, you don’t notice him right away, too focused on Haru as she excitedly waves her latest drawing in front of you. He lingers in the doorway, watching the two of you—so soft, so at ease, so different from how you’d looked earlier when Naoya’s text ripped through you like a slow, suffocating vice.

Good. You should be at ease.

Closing the distance, he leans down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek. You glance up, blinking in mild surprise, but he only smirks.

“Gonna get cleaned up,” he murmurs.

You nod, already distracted again as Haru tugs on your sleeve, eager to keep your focus.

Satoru watches you for a beat longer before turning on his heel, heading upstairs—already anticipating what waits for him in his nightstand—eager to rub one out.

At this point, it’s almost routine—indulging in thoughts of you when the weight of everything gets too fucking heavy. Ever since that first time outside the bathroom, you’ve been stuck in his head, impossible to shake.

His hand is already on the drawer handle the moment he steps into his room, fingers curling around the wood as he pulls it open—

Gone.

Satoru stills.

For a second, he just stares at the empty space where they should be. Blinking once, then twice, before rifling through the contents. Pushing things aside. Checking beneath them.

Nothing.

What the fuck?

He knows he put them here. He’s messy, sure, but he’s not careless. There’s a method to his madness, an order to the chaos. And his memory? Razor-sharp. Too sharp for something like this to slip past him.

So where the fuck are they? Did someone move them?

Then, from the next room, he hears it—the slow, rhythmic drag of fabric against carpet.

Scrubbing.

His gaze flicks toward the en-suite, the door leading to your room cracked open just enough for the scent of cleaner to seep through.

Remi.

Exhaling slowly, he schools his expression, steps forward, and slips through the bathroom. When he leans against the doorway, she’s still kneeling, still scrubbing the same goddamn spot she was working on earlier. Her movements are slow, methodical.

Satoru tilts his head. “You wouldn’t have, by chance, gone through my nightstand, would you?”

Remi freezes. It’s subtle, a small pause, barely a second, but he catches it. Then, she forces a laugh, shaking her head as she resumes scrubbing.

“What? No, of course not.”

Satoru hums, tapping his fingers against the doorframe. But he doesn’t press, doesn’t push—just watches.

Something about Remi is… off. The way she keeps her head ducked, the way her shoulders stay unnaturally stiff as she scrubs. Like if she just focuses hard enough, she can will him away.

Suspicious.

But why the hell would she take your panties? Of all things—that’s a weird fucking thing to steal.

His mind shifts, gears turning, peeling the situation apart and assessing it from a different angle. Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe… it was you.

His lips twitch.

Now that seems more likely.

Pushing off the doorframe, he exhales slowly through his nose, rolling his shoulders as he turns on his heel. Fine. If it was you, he’ll just confirm it himself.

Descending the stairs, the low hum of conversation meets him before he even steps into the living room. Haru sits on the floor, brow furrowed in focus as she drags a colored pencil across a page. Meanwhile, you’re curled up on the couch, one knee tucked under the other, a throw blanket over you, watching her with a soft, easy smile.

Satoru moves behind you, slow and deliberate, dipping down just enough to thread his fingers through your hair, letting them linger.

“Hey.”

You glance up at him, brow arching at that look on his face. “Hmm?”

He studies you for a moment, letting the silence stretch just enough to make you suspicious. Then, voice smooth, he asks, “Did you take them?”

Your expression scrunches in confusion. “Take what?”

“My souvenir,” a slow smirk tugs at his lips.

Your brows knit. “Souvenir?”

“From this morning.”

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Satoru... what the fuck are you talking about?”

He sighs, dramatic and put-upon, as if this should be obvious. “Your panties.”

And there it is.

He watches, thoroughly entertained, as the realization creeps over your features. Your lips part, then press together, heat crawling up your neck, blooming across your cheeks.

“What—my panties?”

He nods, dead serious. “Gone. Missing. Vanished into thin air. They were in my nightstand.”

You scoff, pulling the throw blanket higher over you, half as a shield, half as an excuse to do something with your hands. “I… didn’t even know you had them.”

Satoru tuts, shaking his head like he’s deeply disappointed. Then, without missing a beat, he dips lower, his lips brushing against the soft curve of your neck before murmuring, “Guess I’ll just have to take a new pair… maybe right off you.”

Your breath hitches—just a fraction, barely noticeable, but he catches it. The way your shoulders stiffen, the flicker of heat that rises to your cheeks before you shove at his chest.

“Go away.”

He chuckles, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender, soaking in the way you glare at him, the way you try—and fail—to play it off. He enjoys this too much, watching you squirm, seeing how easily he can fluster you.

But even as he smirks, his mind is already miles away. Because if it wasn’t you… then who the hell took them?

The panties.

The photo of you and Haru—face down.

The off feeling in his office, the one he ignored.

The bloodstain Remi was scrubbing.

One coincidence is nothing. Two is annoying. But this? This is too many fucking things at once. It makes a slow, icy sensation creep along his spine.

Someone’s been in his house.

He lingers longer than he means to, his body still, the gears turning behind his eyes. And then—

“I thought you were gonna get cleaned up?”

He blinks, drawn back to the present. You’re watching him now—fuck, you’re too damn observant. Why is it that out of everyone, he can never hide this façade from you? Not completely—but he tries.

Because if someone has been in the house—if someone’s been bold enough to fuck around where they shouldn’t—you don’t need to know.

He’ll handle it.

This is your home. You should feel safe here.

That’s his job.

Rolling his shoulders, he schools his expression, slipping back into something effortless, easy. “Actually,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “just remembered I gotta call Suguru—something about the case.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, studying him. But you don’t press.

“Oh, okay.”

He grins, tapping his fingers against the couch as he steps back with a wink. “Don’t miss me too much.”

You scoff, shaking your head at his antics, a small grin playing on your lips.

And then, just like that, he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him as he steps into his office, and his expression shifts the second he’s alone—the playfulness evaporating.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, swiping the screen before bringing it to his ear. The line rings once—twice—before Suguru picks up.

“Didn’t think I’d hear from you again so soon,” Suguru sighs. “What’s up?”

Satoru gets right to the point.

“Someone’s been in my house.”

A pause. Then—

“What do you mean?”

Satoru moves toward his desk, dropping into the leather chair with a bit more force than necessary, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His feet prop up onto the desk, but the usual laziness in his posture isn’t there.

“I mean someone unwelcome,” he mutters, his jaw tightening. “Shit’s been moved in my office.”

Suguru exhales, unimpressed. “Satoru, your office is always a fucking mess. If something’s out of place, that’s probably on you.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow. “Not that office—this one. My study at home. It’s neat. Always.”

Suguru hums, not convinced but not dismissing it. “Alright. Go on.”

Satoru leans forward, elbows braced against the desk, rubbing his knuckles over his temple.

"The files on my desk? They were misaligned, Suguru. Barely, but I know it. My shit was touched."

“Hm.”

“And the picture.”

“What picture?”

Satoru clenches his jaw. “The one of her and Haru. It was face down on my desk.”

Silence. Then, Suguru clicks his tongue.  “Could’ve been one of the cleaners. Maybe they knocked it over when dusting.”

Satoru barely acknowledges the suggestion; his thoughts are moving faster than his mouth—his fingers tap against the desk.

“And then, the panties.”

Suguru coughs. “The what?”

“The panties I had of her,” Satoru repeats, irritation bleeding into his tone. “They were in my nightstand. But now, gone. Like they were never fucking there.”

Suguru goes completely silent for half a beat. Then—he bursts into laugher.

“Oh yeah, definitely sounds like a home invasion,” he chokes out between chuckles. “Panty theft is a serious crime, you should probably call the authorities.”

Satoru clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling."You done?"

"No, no, go on," Suguru snickers. "This is getting good."

Satoru forces a slow breath through his nose, rubbing his temples. "Oh, go fuck yourself. You’re missing the point."

Suguru snorts, the laughter still dying in his throat. "Which is…?"

Satoru grips the phone tighter. His voice dips. “Someone was in my room. And…” his voice lowers, “there’s the last thing.”

Suguru hesitates, exhaling slowly. "What is it?"

Satoru leans back in his chair, tipping his head against the cushion as he stares at the ceiling. His fingers drum once against his thigh before stilling.

"I walked into her room earlier." A slow inhale."The nanny was scrubbing blood out of the carpet."

Suguru doesn’t say a fucking word. No snark. No sharp, witty comment. Nothing.

Just silence.

“…did she say where it came from?”

“She said she cut herself,” Satoru mutters. “But there wasn’t a scratch on her. I don’t trust her.”

The line stays quiet for another long, heavy beat.

Then, Suguru exhales. "Alright, let’s say someone was in your house,” His voice is different now—measured, calculating. “What’s your gut telling you?”

Satoru stares at the ceiling, jaw flexing.

“Nothing good.”

"Check your security feed," Suguru says. "Let’s see if your gut is right."

Satoru’s fingers tighten around his phone. Yeah… good point.

He doesn’t waste time, flicking his laptop open with a sharp movement, the cool glow of the screen casting shadows across his face. The security system interface pops up, and his fingers move with precision, clicking through menus.

“Pulling it up now,” he mutters, voice clipped.

Suguru hums on the other end, waiting as Satoru scrolls through the timestamps, looking for today’s footage. His eyes skim down the list—

Then stop. His cursor hovers over empty space.

Where the fuck are the files?

Suguru notices his pause. “Well?”

Satoru’s expression darkens.

“It’s gone.”

Suguru’s tone sharpens immediately. “What do you mean, gone?”

Satoru clicks through different dates, different times—nothing. The footage from earlier today has been wiped. His jaw locks as a slow, creeping burn curls at the back of his mind.

"Deleted," he grits out.

A slow exhale filters through the speaker. Suguru is quiet for a long moment before finally speaking. “You’re sure?”

Satoru huffs out a humorless laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “You think I’m making this shit up?”

Satoru is pissed. Because this isn’t a glitch—it’s not a fucking accident. The files aren’t corrupted—they’re gone. Which means someone wiped them. Someone inside. Someone with access.

A traitor.

His chair scrapes against the floor as he leans back, drumming his fingers against the armrest, his face eerily calm despite the fire simmering beneath his skin.

“I’m firing them all.”

Suguru doesn’t react immediately.

“…all?”

Satoru’s voice is cold. “Yup. Every last one of them. Only Ichiji stays.”

Suguru hums. “His loyalty’s not in question?”

“Not even a little,” Satoru mutters. “He’d rather fucking die than betray me.”

Another pause. Suguru knows better than to argue when Satoru makes up his mind. But then, his tone shifts—lighter, edged with sarcasm.

“Alright, genius… so who’s gonna watch Haru if you fire everyone?”

Satoru stills. Fuck.

His fingers tighten against the leather armrest. The daycare at Gojo Corp—his solution, his answer—wasn’t ready yet.

Which means…

Remi.

His jaw flexes, the weight of it pressing into his ribs. She can’t stay.

“I don’t fucking trust her, Suguru.”

Suguru doesn’t argue. “Yeah. I don’t either.”

That should be satisfying—should be a confirmation of what Satoru already knew. But it isn’t. Because it doesn’t change a damn thing.

Satoru drags a hand down his face. “Then what’s the move here? Because I’m not keeping her around just to get proof.”

“That proof could help us in court.” Suguru’s says, voice even. “If she’s working with the yakuza, that’s a direct link to Naoya. You get something on her, you might have what you need to—”

“I’m not putting them in danger for that.”

The words are sharp, leaving no room for debate.

Suguru exhales through his nose. “I figured you’d say that.”

“Then why the fuck did you—”

“Because I ran into Nanami the other day.”

Satoru blinks. “Nanami?”

“Yeah,” Suguru says easily. “At that bakery he loves—the fancy-ass one with the overpriced croissants. He’s back in town from Malaysia.”

Satoru leans back in his chair, rubbing his jaw.

Nanami Kento.

They went to high school together. He’s former Japan Special Defense Force. Retired. Precise, calculated, deadly when he needs to be.

And—most importantly—not a fucking traitor.

“If you’re going to wipe your entire staff, you need someone reliable to step in. Someone who can make sure your wife and kid don’t get caught in whatever the fuck this is.”

Satoru exhales slowly, running his tongue over his teeth. Nanami was always the first choice when shit needed to get done.

“You think he’d take the job?” Satoru mutters, “Nanami’s retired…”

“I think you should give him a call.”

ꨄ

By the time the sun dips below the horizon, they are all gone.

Every single one of them—except Ichiji and Remi (for now).

Satoru wasted no time. He never does. The second he ended his call with Suguru, he moved. Immediate terminations. No second chances. No hesitation. A single decision, executed with the same precision he applies to everything in his life.

And still—he isn’t cruel.

They all left with generous severance packages,enough to land on their feet. Because after watching you lose everything—your job, your security, your sense of stability—he decided a long time ago that he wouldn’t do the same to others. Even the ones he no longer trusts.

But that’s where his kindness stops. Because right after that, he made another call.

Nanami.

Now, after the exhaustion of handling this mayhem, Satoru finds himself drawn to the kitchen. The house is eerily quiet—emptier than it’s ever been, the usual hum of staff activity reduced to nothing. But here, in this small corner of warmth, he follows something softer.

Vanilla. Buttercream.

And you.

Standing at the counter, barefoot and at ease, piping delicate swirls of frosting onto freshly baked cupcakes. There’s a faint dusting of sugar on your wrist, the glow of the overhead light catching in your hair, casting a soft halo around you.

God you’re perfect.

It’s a picture of normalcy. And Satoru is starving for it.

It’s too easy to slip behind you—to pull you flush against him. His hands find their place at your waist while his fingers curve against the soft fabric of your shirt. Your warmth is immediate, grounding, and with a soft hum, you let yourself sink into his chest. Taking that as an invitation, Satoru’s chin drops low, brushing his nose against your neck as he inhales the faint traces of vanilla on your skin.

It settles something in him, a quiet part of his mind that’s been restless all day. For a moment, it’s almost enough to let him forget everything.

“Where’s Haru?” he murmurs lazily, lips grazing your pulse.

“In bed,” you sigh, adjusting your grip on the piping bag. “Finally. She fought it, though.”

Satoru smirks, nuzzling into you, savoring the warmth of you against him.

This is good.

She’s asleep. You’re here. And for just a moment, he allows himself to sink into this—this fragile, fleeting sense of normalcy. Until—

“Hey… um. Where is everyone?”

He stills. Just slightly. His face doesn’t change, his hands remain steady against your hips, but his mind clicks, recalibrates.

“Hm? What do you mean?” he asks—light, easy—as if he doesn’t already know exactly where this conversation is going.

You tilt your head slightly but don’t turn to face him, still focused on the cupcakes.

“I dunno.” You swipe a bit of frosting off your knuckle, licking it absently. “Just noticed when I was putting Haru to bed—the house feels kinda… empty.”

A pause.

“No one’s around,” you continue, almost offhandedly. “Didn’t hear anyone in the halls. No one cleaning. It’s weird.”

Satoru exhales through his nose. Then, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world—

“Oh, yeah. I fired them.”

You blink—hands freeze mid-frosting.

“…I’m sorry, you what?”

“I fired them,” he repeats, just as nonchalant as before.

There’s no hesitation. No buildup, no explanation. He just says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he didn’t just fire the entire household staff in one fucking day.

You stare at him, deadpan, before a breathless laugh slips out.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

Finally, you turn in his arms, brows raising as you set the piping bag down.

“Wait, wait—” You huff out a disbelieving laugh. “All of them? Just like that?”

Satoru shrugs, completely unbothered. “Well. Not all of them.”

Crossing your arms, your eyes narrow. “Okay… so who’s left?”

Satoru knows where this is going, so he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his grip on your waist tightens, pulling you in—and then, he starts to sway. It’s gentle, lazy—the kind of motion that isn’t about dancing at all. It’s about grounding you, keeping you close, keeping you from overthinking.

“Just Ichiji,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple. “And Remi.”

The shift in you is subtle, but he feels it—the hesitation in your breath, the slight stiffening in your shoulders. And that? That’s not what he wants.

So, before you can dwell on it, before the worry settles too deep, he smooths a hand up your back, voice dipping softer.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he coaxes, pressing another kiss to your skin. “I already took care of it.”

You don’t answer as his swaying continues—his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your hips, lulling the information into you.

“I hired someone new.”

You blink, momentarily distracted. “Oh… huh?”

A low hum rumbles from his chest, and he feels your tension ease just a fraction.

“I hired someone,” he repeats, soft, unhurried. “He’ll be stopping by tomorrow while I’m out.”

That catches your attention.

“Out?” Your brows knit together slightly.

“Mhm,” he says, still swaying. “Me and Suguru are meeting Naoya, remember?”

The tension creeps back in—he feels it, but he expected that. So, he counters—pressing his lips to your temple, hands firm against your waist, keeping you right where he wants you.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “You’ll stay right here. And you get to meet our newest hire. He’s a friend of mine.”

Curiosity flickers through the concern, but your hesitation lingers.

“Okay… who?”

“Nanami.”

“Nanami?”

The swaying slows, shifting closer to stillness.

“Mmhm,” he nods. “Kento Nanami. Met him back in high school. Good guy. Very serious.”

Something unreadable flickers across your face as you drag in a breath, turning back to the counter, reaching absently for the piping bag.

“…okay,” you exhale. “So… what exactly does he do?”

“Oh, you know,” he hums smoothly, slipping behind you again, looping his arm around your waist as he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “He’s just… gonna keep an eye on you when I’m not around.”

Your hands move as you resume piping the cupcakes, but your brow lifts just slightly—contemplating. It’s subtle, but Satoru catches it. Your grip tightening, your shoulders tensing, your lashes lowering—flickering with something unspoken.

You’re worried. And that? Yeah, that won’t do.

With a dramatic sigh, he slumps against you, burying his face into your neck, nuzzling into you like a lazy cat demanding attention. His breath fans the gentle curve of your throat as he whines, “Mm, don’t do that.”

Exhaling a quiet laugh, you remain focused on frosting.

“Do what?”

“That thing where you overthink.” His voice is muffled against your skin. “And make that cute little frowny face.”

You hum, amused but unfazed, continuing your work. Satoru, undeterred, nips lightly at your shoulder.

“Hey. Hey.” His voice dips, a touch more petulant. “I’m talking to you, missy.”

He catches the slow grin creep up your lips as you elbow him lightly.

“I’m frosting, Satoru.”

“Well, I’m suffering,” he huffs, tightening his hold and swaying you side to side, slow and lazy, like a child demanding attention. “Neglected. Unloved.”

A soft laugh slips through your lips as you roll your eyes fondly.

“You’re so dramatic…”

Finally setting the piping bag down again, you indulge him for a moment as he keeps swaying you—rocking you back and forth against his chest. When he speaks, his voice dips, softer—laced with a playful fondness.

“C’mon…” he whines quietly, “I need attention.”

Your sigh is utterly exasperated.

“And I need to finish these cupcakes.”

“Hhmp… frosting is not more important than me,” he grumbles, his nose nudging against your jaw, lips brushing just beneath your ear. “I’m your husband. You have obligations.”

That earns a quiet huff of laughter, finally tilting your head to glance at him.

“Oh, my deepest apologies, Mr. Gojo. Please forgive me for my negligence.”

His smirk stretches wider, smug and pleased, before spinning you to face him, hands still firm on your hips, pulling you close.

“I suppose I can forgive you…” he sighs, but there’s something playful in his expression, something scheming. “If…”

Your brows lift, suspicious. “Okay… what’s that look for?”

His grin widens. “Come with me.”

Your eyes narrow. “Where?”

“The living room,” he says, already tugging at your hand like an impatient kid. “C’mon, I set something up for us.”

And there it is—that signature Gojo glint in his eyes, the one that always means he’s up to something. You don’t budge. Instead, you fold your arms, eyeing him knowingly.

“What did you do this time?”

“No questions,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “You’ll have to save those for later.”

You pause, before exhaling, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. Then, turning back to the counter, you grab a plate and stack a few cupcakes onto it.

“Fine, fine.” You nudge his side as you pass him. “Lead the way, Romeo.”

And now, he’s practically dragging you along as you enter the living room, grinning.

As you round the corner, the fireplace crackles low, a gentle heat spreading into the room. There’s a small cluster of candles burning low on the coffee table, a cozy mess of blankets on the couch, a few pillows strewn at the edges. And in the background, the quiet hum of a playlist through the speakers—nothing over the top, nothing extravagant, but thoughtful.

Your steps slow, and he watches the way your gaze flickers over the setup—something unreadable in your expression before you glance at him.

“So… this is for me?” you murmur softly. “You did this?”

Satoru plops on the couch, stretching his legs out as he feigns nonchalance. “Mm.”

You arch a brow.

“I meeean,” he drawls, smirking, “I thought about going all out. Rose petals, violinists, maybe a red carpet… confetti cannons. But then I figured noooo, my wife will say that’s too much.”

Your lips twitch—just a fraction—but he catches it.

“Yeah… that would’ve been ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Exactly.” He pats the space beside him on the couch. “So c’mon, sit. Enjoy the ambience. Indulge me.”

Rolling your eyes, you place the plate on the coffee table before sinking onto the couch beside him, your body settling into the mess of blankets he’d thrown. And then—just for a second—he catches it. The tiny, barely perceptible sigh when you lean back. Like you hadn’t realized how much tension you were holding until now.

His gaze lingers. But he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he lets his arm drape over the back of the couch, fingers brushing lightly against your sleeve. Then, his eyes flicker toward the plate on the table.

“Sooo,” he hums, tilting his head, “are those for me?”

You glance at the cupcakes, then back at him, brow lifting. “What?”

“The cupcakes,” he clarifies, grinning. “You made them for me, right?”

A slow smirk pulls up your lips as you pluck a cupcake from the plate.

“Mmm… nope. They’re for me.”

Satoru blinks, visibly affronted. “Uh… excuse me?”

You don’t answer. Instead, he watches as your delicate fingers move slowly, peeling back the wrapper of the cupcake. His eyes flick from your hands to your face, following every movement with an intensity he doesn’t bother to hide.

Little brat. You don’t offer him one.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, lifting the cupcake toward your lips with excruciating patience. And then—

You take the smallest, slowest bite, just barely grazing the frosting with your lips before pulling back, letting out a soft, satisfied hum.

His stomach clenches.

“Mmm…” your lashes flutter as you let the flavor settle on your tongue—exaggerated, taunting.

Satoru stares, pouting as you go in for another bite—this one just as tortuously slow. As your lips wrap around the edge of the cupcake, he doesn’t miss the way your tongue flicks out, catching a stray bit of frosting as you pull away.

His jaw flexes.

Fuck that tongue… he wants it all over his cock.

But you don’t seem to notice the way his fingers twitch against the couch, or maybe you do, and you’re just ignoring it. Either way, it’s infuriating.

“Damn,” you murmur, voice light, completely unbothered. “These are really good, if I do say so myself.”

Satoru exhales through his nose, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches you, his smirk sharpening. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm.” Another bite—smaller this time, more deliberate. Your gaze flickers toward him, half-lidded and knowing.

Little fucking tease.

He shifts beside you, stretching his legs out like he’s just getting comfortable, but there’s nothing relaxed about the way his fingers flex at the back of the couch, or how his free hand curls against his thigh.

“You know I don’t like being teased,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, quieter, like a warning.

You hum, licking another bit of frosting from your thumb, completely unfazed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His smirk twitches, almost a scoff, but his eyes darken.

“Sweetheart…” shifting closer, his knee brushes against yours, “you’re a terrible liar.”

As you blink at him, playing innocent, he doesn’t buy it for a fucking second.

“You did make them for me, didn’t you?” he whispers, his hand moves to your thigh, sliding up slowly. “Be honest.”

When your lips part slightly, Satoru thinks you might actually answer him—but then, just as quickly, you press them together again.

He smirks. You started this, and oh he loves a challenge.

Exhaling slowly, he hums, low and amused, his fingers spreading wider over your thigh, brushing higher, just enough to make you shift under his touch.

“Well,” he sighs, dragging it out like he’s deep in thought, “if they’re just for you, I guess I’ll have to go about my night hungry and unloved…”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “God you are so dramatic…”

“And yet…” his fingers wrap gently around your wrist, guiding the cupcake up, just shy of his lips. “You’re still holding out on me.”

As him thumb strokes against your pulse point, slow and lazy, those blue eyes flicker up through his snowy lashes—gleaming with something dangerous, something hungry. He leans in just a fraction more, letting the heat of his breath ghost over you hand.

“C’mon, sweetheart…” his gaze lingers on your lips before trailing back to the cupcake. “Feed me.”

A sharp exhale drags through your nose, and he can practically hear the gears turning in your head. Now you know exactly what he’s doing.

Your lips part, then press together again, before reluctantly, you give in, bringing the cupcake to his lips. And now, Satoru takes his time—brushing his lips against your fingertips, soft, teasing.

His pink tongue flicks out, dragging against the frosting before his teeth sink into the cake, deliberate and unhurried. His snowy lashes lower as he chews, savoring the taste, but more than that—savoring the way you’re watching him now.

Because two can play this game.

Your breath hitches, and for just a fraction of a second, your fingers tremble—barely noticeable, but he catches it. And oh, it does something to him, something dark and satisfied curling deep in his stomach.

Pulling back, he lets his lips brush against your fingertips again—lingering, teasing, savoring. Then, with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, he licks away a stray bit of frosting from the corner of his mouth—purposeful, knowing.

“Mmm…” he swallows, sighing in satisfaction. “That frosting is just too good…”

You’re pouting now, and that bottom lip is just too cute. He smirks, running a pad of his thumb through a dollop of frosting. As his eyes drag back to yours, his grin widens.

“I do love buttercream.”

And then, before you can react, his hand moves, his thumb dragging against that pretty bottom lip, smearing the frosting over your soft skin.

You blink, inhaling sharply as a slow smile stretches upward.

“Oops,” he exhales, tilting his head slightly. There is a heat pooling behind those endless blue eyes as he murmurs, “Look at that… you made a mess.”

And he fully intends to clean it up.

Leaning in, his breath warms your skin as his lips barely graze yours—a featherlight touch. His eyes are heavy lidded as his longue flicks out, licking the frosting from your lips—slow deliberate.

He feels your breath shudder, and a quiet hum vibrates in his throat as he savors the taste.

And suddenly he’s kissing you.

It starts soft, coaxing, lips pulling against yours in a way that makes your body react before your mind can catch up. His fingers slide to your jaw, tilting your face up, deepening the kiss, drinking in every pretty sound you make.

You melt into him.

Each drawn-out kiss quickens, moving with purpose now, making him crave more. He groans, sliding his hands to your waist as he shifts, guiding you onto his lap with effortless ease. A quiet gasp escapes you, but he drinks it in, keeping you flush against him.

Your arms loop around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

And then—you tug.

A sharp sensation ripples down his spine, a growl catching in his throat. His teeth graze your bottom lip—biting, sucking, soothing. Slow, indulgent, taking his time as he licks away the last traces of sweetness.

Fuck.

You taste like buttercream and heat—dangerously addicting—like something he could get drunk on if he let himself.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead lingers close to yours, breaths mingling. Both of you are unsteady from the weight of it. Your lips are swollen and your gaze is hazy as it meets his.

But as he drags his thumb over that plump lower lip again, his lips curl—savoring the way they are slick, and clean from his kiss.

“Hmm…” his voice is smug, husky. “I dunno… tastes like these cupcakes were for me after all.”

A breathless laugh slips past your lips, your fingers still lightly threading through his hair.

“You are so full of yourself,” you murmur, shaking your head. “When have I ever made something sweet that wasn’t for you?”

His smirk widens, victorious. “Ahh… see? You admit it.”

You roll your eyes, but the moment lingers—comfortable, unhurried. Your fingers weave through his snowy hair, slow and absentminded, while his thumbs trace lazy circles against your hips, grounding and warm.

It’s a comfortable silence, but as your gaze flickers away from his, you take in the soft glow of the candles, the careful arrangement of blankets, the way everything feels so intentional. The way he feels so intentional.

Exhaling, you tilt your head slightly. “So… can I ask what all this is about now?”

Satoru hums, his fingers stilling at your waist for just a beat before his smirk returns—though there’s something else behind it now—something quieter.

“I wanna play a game.”

You arch a brow, clearly skeptical. “A game?”

“Mhm…” His hands skim down your sides slowly, caressing your hips. “It’s simple. We take turns asking each other questions, and we have to answer honestly.”

Your eyes narrow. “Is this just an excuse for you to be dirty?”

Clicking his tongue, Satoru shakes his head with mock disappointment. “Wow. You’re the one with the filthy mind,” he muses, voice dipping lower, teasing. “Naughty girl. It’s just an innocent game of questions.”

You hum, unconvinced. “Innocent, huh?”

“Yup. Cross my heart.” He grins, tracing an ‘X’ over his chest with one finger. “I’d never use underhanded tactics to get you flustered.”

Pulling back slightly, you level him a knowing look.

“You literally just did.”

His smirk grows. “Semantics.”

Shaking your head, you exhale, your fingers still idly playing with his hair. After a beat, you tilt your head and whisper, “…so what kind of questions?”

For just a second, his grin softens, that cocky edge fading—just a little.

“Anything, really.”

His fingers trail absentmindedly along your hip, his gaze flickering over your face, like he’s memorizing something only he can see.

“I just… wanna know more about you.”

“You say that like I’m some kind of mystery…”

His lips curl faintly, a quiet hum slipping from him. “You are.”

You scoff lightly, shaking your head. “Not really… and we had to learn so much about each other for this fake marriage, Satoru. Favorite foods, pet peeves, how we take our coffee—hell, I know your blood type.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah… but that’s just surface-level shit. Facts, trivia—stuff you’d put on a dating profile.” His voice drops slightly, something softer curling around the edges. “I don’t just wanna know what you like… I wanna know why. I wanna know you.”

Your breath catches for a moment, something shifting in the air between you. And Satoru—he watches the way your expression flickers, the way you hesitate for half a second like you don’t know what to do with the weight of his words.

So, instead of letting it settle too long, he smirks. Tilts his head against the cushions, easy and lazy.

"Alright. Since I came up with the game, I get the first question."

You shift slightly in his lap, arching a brow.

"Mmm… is that how it works?"

"Obviously," he smirks. "Genius privilege."

You roll your eyes, but he catches the way the corner of your mouth twitches. Cute.

"Fine, go."

He hums in thought, fingers drumming idly against your side, watching the way your lips purse, waiting. Then, a slow grin spreads across his face.

"Alright, sweetheart. What's the dumbest thing you've ever spent money on?"

You scoff, lips pressing together, and Satoru already knows whatever answer you give is going to amuse him.

"Oho… I wanna know what your answer to this question is gonna be."

“Mm-mm.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “You first, princess.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you lean back slightly against his hold, pressing yourself a little closer to him.

"Okay, fine," you tap your fingers against his chest like you’re thinking hard. "Mmm… probably one of those water bottles that track hydration. The kind with reminders that light up."

Satoru stares at you blankly. “Uh… really? That’s it? How is that dumb?”

“Well…” You hesitate, then shrug. “It was pointless to buy, because I ignored it. Like I do with most things I don’t wanna deal with.”

His smirk stretches wider at that, a wicked gleam sparking in his eyes.

“Wow. Even a bottle has to fight for your attention. I almost feel bad for it.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, shaking your head. "Yeah, well... it should’ve tried harder."

Satoru presses a hand to his chest, expression mockingly solemn. "Tragic. A hero, forgotten in the darkness of a cabinet. I’ll tell its story."

Rolling your eyes, you swat lightly at his arm. "Oh, shut up."

"Next time, just give me the money, and I’ll nag you to drink water personally."

You scoff. “Like you need the money, Mr. Money Bags.”

Satoru grins at that, because he walked right into it.

“True, true. But think about it—I’d be way more effective. I could send you little reminders,” he pauses, voice dipping lower, "maybe even offer incentives."

Your brows furrow slightly, catching the shift in his tone. "Incentives?"

His smirk turns downright sinful, fingers tightening at your waist just slightly.

“Mhm.” He drags his thumb in a slow arc along your side, feigning thought. “Positive reinforcement. Every time you drink water, I could… reward you.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Okay… you definitely just made that dirty.”

He laughs, tilting his head, feigning innocence. "Did I?"

"Yes."

He hums, leaning in close to you. "Or… maybe you just have a filthy mind."

You groan, pressing your palm against his face in a weak attempt to push him away, but he only laughs, fingers tightening at your waist, keeping you right where he wants you.

"Alright, enough about me," you huff, leveling him with a look that only makes him more entertained. "I need to hear your answer to this question."

Satoru hums like he’s really considering it, but then—his lips curl, amusement flashing across his face.

“A castle.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Then, slowly, your hand drops from his face.

“…I'm sorry. You own a castle?”

His grin is all confidence, completely unrepentant. “Mhm.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. You stare at him, baffled, before shaking your head. “Um… okay. Where?”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Uh, somewhere in the Alps? Or maybe Scotland—" He pauses, squinting. “Wait. No. It’s in France. I think.”

"You think?" you repeat, incredulous.

"Well, I haven't actually been there," he admits, waving a dismissive hand. “Not my fault castles are kinda inconvenient to visit.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling. "Then… why did you buy it?"

Satoru tilts his head. “You ever just scroll through luxury listings at 2 AM and think, ‘Yeah, I need that?’”

"Oh my god."

"But," he continues, ignoring you, "apparently castles require a ton of upkeep. Something about centuries-old plumbing and heating? Also, there’s a moat problem."

Your brows knit together. "Moat problem?"

"Yeah. Turns out, maintaining a functional moat is a logistical nightmare. Plus, I dunno, castles just… aren’t that practical."

“You’re ridiculous…” you groan, shoving lightly at his chest, but he only laughs, catching your wrist and pulling your hand back into his.

His fingers play idly with yours, absentminded, like he’s holding onto the moment without even realizing it. When his eyes flick back to yours, there’s a lazy kind of amusement settling there.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmurs, lips curling just slightly.

You shake your head with a wry smile, shifting, settling deeper into his lap—letting yourself relax against him, letting him hold you just a little closer.

“Alright, castle boy,” you mutter, tilting your head at him. “Next question.”

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips. “Hit me.”

Humming thoughtfully, your eyes flicker over him, considering.

“Well, since we’re on the topic of money… what’s one thing you refuse to spend money on?”

Leaning back, Satoru stretches an arm over the couch as if this answer doesn’t require a single brain cell of effort.

“Easy. Economy flights.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

He levels you with a flat stare, completely deadpan. “Have you seen how long my legs are?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Mmkay… that’s fair.”

“And you?”

You consider for a second before shrugging. “Lottery tickets.”

He scoffs, lips curling in amusement. “What, you don’t believe in testing fate?”

“I know better than to test fate,” you say dryly. “I’ve always had terrible luck. And I hate spending money on something where the odds are literally against me.”

Satoru hums, twisting a strand of your hair lazily between his fingers, watching it slip through his grasp.

“Huh,” he muses, thoughtful now. “I dunno. I’d say you hit the jackpot once or twice.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please.”

“No, really.” His grin lingers, but there’s something softer beneath it now, something less teasing—more contemplative.

There’s a beat of quiet, the soft crackle of the fire in the background, the rhythmic sound of your breathing against his. His thumbs continue to ghost your sides, tracing slow absentminded circles.

Then—

“Do you think we would’ve still ended up like this if circumstances were different?”

He says it casually, smoothly, like it’s not sitting heavier in his chest than it should. Your breath catches just slightly, the weight of the question settling between you.

Tilting your head, you search his face.

“Well… would you have even given me a second glance if things weren’t the way they are?”

Satoru’s brow lifts, but instead of answering, his smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Uh-uh now. It’s my turn. I asked first.”

Exhaling, you shake your head.

“I… dunno…” your voice dips quieter now. “But the idea of never ending up here at all… that’s kind of a scary thought. So… I try not to think about it.”

His expression softens—just for a second—before he hums, gripping your waist tighter.

“I think…” He tilts his head, pausing, dragging the moment out just enough to make your brows pinch slightly. “Even if everything was different, I still would’ve wanted to know you.”

You blink, like you weren’t expecting that answer.

“…really?”

Satoru scoffs, his grin snapping back into place like it never left.

“Oh, absolutely,” he nudges his nose against yours affectionately. “But can you imagine if I hadn’t? You would’ve lived such a dull, Gojo-free life.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Wow, yes, what a tragedy.”

“It would be,” he insists, feigning offense. “Who else would’ve made it their mission to drive you up the wall every single day?”

You huff through your nose, exasperated but fond.

“You loved annoying me.”

“Still do,” he admits, shameless. “But… you were so serious. Always so focused. I had to try to get a reaction out of you.”

You hum, gaze flickering downward, fingers tracing an idle pattern against his shoulder.

“I… had to be.”

Tilting his head, Satoru watches you, waiting. His fingers still trace lazy, idle shapes at your waist. There’s a beat before you continue, your voice softer now.

“Back then… my life was kind of a mess. So… I didn’t have the luxury of being carefree. I was just… trying to hold everything together.”

Something about the way you say it pulls at Satoru’s chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

He doesn’t like it.

Doesn’t like that he wasn’t there, that he didn’t know you like this—buried under stress, struggling, holding on by the skin of your teeth.

He hates it, actually.

But he doesn’t say that. Doesn’t know how. So instead, he moves.

Exhaling, he leans back, stretching his arms with a lazy groan before tugging you down with him. You let out a small sound of protest, but it’s weak, breathless—because you don’t really fight it. And he grins because, yeah, he knew you wouldn’t.

The couch shifts beneath his weight as he sprawls out, adjusting until you’re right where he wants you—resting against his chest, tucked into him.

His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, warm, grounding. His fingers skate lazily up and down your spine—slow, unhurried, absentminded.

“…comfy?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple.

“um… yeah,” you admit softly.

Satoru smirks, eyes slipping closed, his grip settling more firmly around you.

“Alright,” he hums, vibrating against you. “What’s one memory you hold onto when things get tough?”

You still slightly, like you weren’t expecting the question. For a moment, you just lie there, listening to the crackle of the fireplace, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing beneath you as his fingers trace lazy circles along your spine.

Then, you exhale, closing your eyes.

“Hmm… that’s a good question.”

As you hesitate, your fingers trace an idle, mindless pattern against his chest, until finally, you find your words.

"There was this one night… after everything with Naoya, when I finally got my own place,” you begin. “It was tiny, barely more than a shoebox… but it was mine. I remember sitting on the floor with a bottle of cheap wine, eating takeout straight from the container, just thinking… I did this. I got myself here. No one handed it to me, no one saved me—I made it happen. That night, I felt like I could breathe again… for the first time in years."

The words linger between you, quiet and honest, and Satoru doesn’t speak right away, but you feel the way his fingers continue to trail up in down your back.

He hates it.

Not the part where you made it on your own—no, that part is impressive as hell, that part makes his chest tighten with admiration. He’s always loved your strength, your resilience.

It’s the other part.

The fact that you were alone when it happened. That no one was there to see it, to celebrate it, to tell you that you fucking did it. That he couldn’t be there.

“You… really went through a lot all on your own, huh?”

You nod subtly against his chest. “…yeah.”

There’s something in his throat—something thick, something he doesn’t know what to do with. So he swallows it down, exhales softly—then presses his lips into your hair.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs.

He feels it when you still slightly. When the words settle, sinking deep. You don’t say anything at first, but your fingers tighten against his shirt, just for a second, just enough to let him know you heard him.

“…what about you?” your whisper, head still resting against him. “What’s a memory you hold onto?”

Satoru hums, sorting through the years.

“Hmm… there’s one,” he finally says, voice distant, like he’s pulling it from somewhere deep.  “It’s nothing big, but… when I was a kid, my dad would always throw these extravagant birthday parties for me. Like, ridiculously over the top—huge cakes, fireworks, even once had a live tiger.”

You lift your head slightly, blinking. “A tiger?”

He grins. “Yeah, it was cool—until it got loose and almost took out half the catering staff.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.” He snickers at the memory, but then, his expression shifts. The amusement is still there, lingering, but something else creeps in at the edges.

“Anyway…” he continues, “the parties were never really for me. They were more for appearances—big shows for the business partners, other rich families. But there was this one year where Suguru—” He pauses for a beat, then continues, voice softer. “He convinced me to skip my own party. We ran off to this little ramen shop instead, just the two of us.”

Your breath stills slightly, sensing the shift in his tone.

“I… remember sitting there in this tiny hole-in-the-wall place, still in my stupid fancy suit, just eating ramen and laughing about dumb shit. No cameras, no expectations, no pressure. It was just… nice.” He exhales, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes, when things get overwhelming, I think about that night. Just the simplicity of it.”

There’s another lingering quiet, stretching between the steady crackle of the fire. Your fingers twitch slightly against his chest, and as you speak again, your voice is softer, tinged with a sleepiness.

“Suguru… really sounds like a great friend.”

Satoru hums, his fingers trailing lazy circles against your back. “Yeah… he is.”

Tilting his head slightly, Satoru looks down at you. Your eyes are still open, but only just. Heavy-lidded, hazy, like sleep is already tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

“You tired?” he murmurs.

You hum sleepfully. “Mm-mm. Just… comfortable.”

“Mmkay… well it’s your turn.”

As your lips pull into a drowsy smile, you allow your eyes to slip shut as you think. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, warmth lulling you further into the haze of slumber.

“What’s… one thing you’d never change about your life?”

Satoru exhales, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes slipping shut. He could say a million things. His freedom, his wealth, his power—things people assume matter most to him. But none of it feels right. None of it feels true.

Instead, his arms tighten slightly around you, his hand pressing a little firmer at your waist, like he’s anchoring himself to this moment.

“This… right here. You, in my arms.”

“Mmm… yeah?” you hum, voice slipping somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Shifting slightly, you burrow deeper against him before you whisper, “…why’s that?”

His breath hitches.

You say it so simply, so easily, like you don’t know what you’re asking of him. Like you don’t realize you’ve just cracked open something inside him that he’s never let anyone see.

Because the words are there, sitting right at the edge of his tongue, but he’s never said them before. Not like this. Not to anyone.

He swallows.

And then, for once, he doesn’t overthink it.

“Because… I love you.”

The weight of the words settle, heavy, irreversible, and Satoru holds still, waiting for—something. For you to react, for the moment to shift, for the world to feel different now that he’s let those words exist outside of himself.

But there’s nothing. No reaction.

Your breathing has already evened out, slow and soft against his skin.

He looks down—you’re asleep.

A breath of laughter slips past his lips—quiet, a little incredulous. Of course. Of course the first time he ever says it, the first time he ever means it—you don’t even hear him.

His chest tightens, but there’s no frustration there. Just warmth.

Shaking his head slightly, he tugs you closer, pressing one more lingering kiss to your hair before reaching for the throw blanket resting over the back of the couch. He pulls it over both of you, tucking you in against him, letting himself just exist in this moment.

And as his grip settles at your waist, his body melting into the cushions as the fire crackles low in the background, Satoru exhales slowly, eyes slipping shut.

"Yeah," he murmurs, just for himself. "I really do love you."

And this time, he’s okay with you not hearing it. Because he’ll say it again.

And next time, you will.

a/n. awww... i hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter. i know the first half is mostly setting up plot, but we have a lot to come... hehe. writing this chapter was a big change up from my usual, and i definitely had a lot of fun with it. naoya is a creep, and not in a sexy way 😅 and the panties are an actual plot point?! whaaaa, betcha didn't see that coming 😂 excited to bring nanami in this storyyyy. and i'm excited for suguru and satoru's meet up with naoya. oh man, i can't wait for all the pieces to fall into place 💕 satoru finally said those three words 🤧 my heart. as always, would love to hear your thoughts. thanks for reading 🥹🫶🏻 -aly → you are currently all caught upꨄ

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@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

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@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

[snoopyhq]

Jealous viktor + reader 🙏

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ so with my best, my very best, i set you free

(i love laufey 🗣️ her cover of "i wish you love" with the icelandic orchestra? 2:49 of heaven)

type: viktor x reader

summary: headcanons and a drabble of jealous viktor. headcanons are pre-relationship, the drabble is the established relationship ✪ ꨄ︎

word count: 2415

a/n: OMG FIRST ASK I'M SO HONORED I'M SO EXCITED YIPPEE !!! will be working on the others whenever i have the time, but TRUST i am plotting and scheming <3 any other askers, feel free to drop by! i hope i did your request justice, dear anon.

It was unfair to you, and to him, in his most miserable moments of pure self-pity

Viktor envied those who were healthy. He wished he wasn't born with the circumstances he was dealt. He would trade anything to spend one day with a respiratory system that didn't choke him from the inside out every time he took a breath

He was jealous of you, initially, when you first met

You seemed to have it so easy

Easy laughter, easy conversation, easy friends. You had an established life, you were loved, and you held yourself together with such ease that he sometimes wonders how much you're really holding back

He feels bad for assuming you were dealing with awful problems. But it was very likely. I mean, who was truly that... happy? Well off? At ease with themself and their role in the world? He was probably projecting

And then you somehow, by all the miracles a human could possibly be granted, managed to worm your way into his life and secure yourself there too

Viktor vehemently rejected you at first. He was much like a stray cat. You just gotta continuously give them love on their own terms, and often times, it was slow, and that concept applied to Viktor too

It started with small things. Brief greetings where you called him by name

"Good morning, Viktor."

"Nice to see you here today, Viktor."

"Viktor, you have a good night ok? Get home safe."

Including him in conversations. Commentary about how you two just happened to be in the same place at the same time. The library, a cafe, randomly in the middle of a bustling street

You always had that breezy way of acknowledging things. What a nice coincidence. It was all genuine

You were pleased to be surprised by his presence

Wordlessly holding the door for him, even if you really didn't have to wait. But it was never a big deal, so

He pushed it away. Brushed it off, and tried to forget about it, but those little moments kept circling through his mind like an irritating tape he couldn't dislodge from the disc player, and turning the TV off wasn't doing shit when those scenes were basically burned onto the screen

Like the natural progression of the lunar cycle, Viktor found himself unconsciously expecting you in his life

He can't remember a time when you weren't

Your greetings, your little gestures of kindness, that skill of small talk that meant so, so much to him were cherished like an altar of worship

While he was in no way, shape, or form completely opening himself up to befriending any more people, he began to feel much more natural with you and others you gave your time to

Which brought him to his current bit of emotional turbulence

That prickling in his chest whenever he saw you with other people, giving them your precious words and quality time? Yeah, he shouldn't be feeling this

You were allowed to have other friends! You had people in your life before him, and it doesn't mean you consider him any less just because you spent a moment or two with someone else!

He would tighten his grip on his cane, those mantras feverishly chanting in his mind as he walked in circles, attempting to reign his emotions into a more rational state

He had no right to feel jealous like this, but he couldn't help it

Jayce was his only real companion before, and now that he was a council member, he had less time for Viktor. He had the city to nurture and shape, a big responsibility. The loneliness of the lab was barely a noticeable shift from before

Now, you arrived as if by careless chance, giving him another glimpse, another hit of company, and it was maddeningly cruel to have those doses be in such short time frames

He was given what he needed and wanted, but never fully

Accepting that reality was going to be harder than accepting you truly wishing to be around him, in all his sardonic glory, his blunt nature that had most other people walking away. Just not you

To grapple with this selfish desire was humiliating

He was fully aware of how innately human it all was. If only it were easier. Someday.

For now, he would wait and bask in all the attention and friendship you offered him so willingly

You stood in front of your mirror, going over your carefully put together look one last time. You wanted to look good, and having the outfit fall into place like how you planned it in your head always gave you an extra boost of happiness before you left the house. Straightening the collar of your top one last time, you were finally satisfied.

Viktor was waiting for you in the living room. He stood up when you finally appeared, greeting you with a kiss to your cheek and a murmured "You look enchanting, as always."

You laughed and hugged him.

"And you're dashing, as per usual."

With your arm linked through his, the two of you went on your way. He had planned the date tonight. The winding route led to the sparkling, five-tiered fountain that marked the center of the shopping fair. The flowing water sparkled and danced beneath the fairy lights strung through the evergreens surrounding the space, and orchestral music floated up from where the quintet performed.

You two often went here after a long, stressful week, dining at one of the outdoor tables and idly chatting before hitting a couple stores. Most of the time, it would be the bookshop, the local woodcarver, and then the bakery. You had made it a tradition to buy one another a sweet treat, and it was always a delight to see if your guesses of enjoyment would be met or not.

There was certainly not a lack of other people around you, many of whom were also hand in hand. The center was a popular spot for local students and couples to unwind and spend time together.

When you both had your fill of sights and perusing your respective comforts, you made your way back to the fountain. The musicians had struck up a lively waltz, and many were dancing along now. Both of you shared a look, and moved to join in, albeit towards the edge of the crowds.

Dancing with Viktor was one of your favorite activities. He moved with such assuredness and care for your space, making him all the more captivating in his graces. The respectful placement of his hand on your waist, never going too far and risking your discomfort in public, and never straying away lest he appeared bored, Viktor made sure you were his priority.

After the song concluded, you spun Viktor around slowly to the rhythm of the music drawing to a close, dipping him into a kiss during the final note.

His cheeks were slightly flushed, both from the exertion and from your affection.

"I'm going to grab a drink. We can head home after, if you'd like," you told him, head leaning on his shoulder as he walked with you back up the steps.

"That's perfectly fine. I can hold your bag while you do that."

Oh, Viktor. Ever the gentleman.

You went inside the establishment, and ordered yourself a shirley temple with sweet cream, fully planning to share with him. You knew he had a penchant for the more saccharine in terms of taste. While you waited to order, another patron joined you after placing their order.

"Busy place tonight, isn't it?" they commented.

You turned your attention to them, surprised a stranger was making conversation with you, but you didn't mind. All harmless small talk, after all. You would be leaving soon anyways when your order was finished, so why not pass the time with pleasantries?

"It's one of the most popular cafes around here," you replied. "Friday nights always means live music, so people love to flock here. I should know. I frequent here often." you finished with a smile, and received one in return.

They continued engaging you in conversation, and you soon realized it was taking a bit for your drink. A shirley temple wasn't complicated, and you were worried something was wrong. Maybe they were short-staffed tonight? Did an accident occur in the back?

"Are you worried about your drink?"

"No, not really. More so the workers here," you were honest. Some of them were fellow students you see at the academy, and others knew you as a regular, and you had grown quite fond of the staff as they were of you.

"That's a surprise. You're very sweet."

Their order quickly arrived, and they bid you farewell before departing into the night. You walked up to the counter, asking if everyone was ok. The barista reassured you, saying it was only going to take a little while, and that everything is alright now. Relieved, you went back to your perch.

Outside, Viktor was waiting anxiously. This was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated.

When someone emerged from the cafe, he was tempted to get up and ask them if they'd seen you in there.

Yes, my partner. About this tall, very beautiful eyes, a smile you can't miss. Have you seen...?

God. He was contemplating approaching a stranger just to inquire about you. Luckily (or was it?) for him, they must've sensed him sneaking glances at the cafe and at them, because they approached him cheerily.

"You look a little lost. Need some help?" they asked.

"Oh, it's alright. I'm just waiting for someone."

At that, they perked up.

"It wouldn't happen to be someone wearing the same colored blouse as your vest would it?"

Yes. It was. He confirmed it.

"That's perfect actually! I was just talking to them, and since you know them, do you think they would be interested in exchanging contact information with me? They were quite lovely company, and I wouldn't mind getting to know them better."

Viktor could feel his heart drop and the temperature in his soul rise several degrees. What was going on? Where were you? What had happened in those minutes that you were gone?

"I will... ask them," he attempted to keep his tone even. "Mind giving me your contact information to pass along?"

The stranger happily handed Viktor a piece of paper, their messy scrawl sending a sting of irritation through him. That penmanship was not worthy of you, and would certainly not compare to the intricate scripting of his own handwritten notes and letters to you.

When you finally rejoined him, you could tell immediately something was off. You questioned him about it, and he huffed, telling you not to worry about it as you walked home. He didn't even pay any mind to the bag that hung on your arm, too caught up in his insecurities and worries.

That stranger was so much like you. So approachable. Good conversationalist. He couldn't help but imagine a scenario of you two getting along a little too well, and that made something deep inside him hurt. Clearly, he wasn't as good as keeping his thoughts off his face as he believed, or you had simply gotten better at understanding him, because you promptly asked him again.

"Come on, Viktor. Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"

"If you knew the full extent of what I'm thinking of, you wouldn't be so quick to call my mind beautiful," he grumbled tersely.

"You can't judge my reaction for me. Spill."

He bit the inside of his cheek. Finally, he confessed. It felt like ripping out stitches from his tongue.

"... someone at the coffee shop. They asked me if I knew you, and then asked if you would be interested in their contact information."

At that, you raised an incredulous eyebrow. Ah. You were blissfully oblivious of the jarring events.

"Viktor, I promise nothing is wrong. We were both waiting for our drinks, and they happened to be making small talk with me. That's all. I love you with my whole heart, and no one else can ever--will not ever--compare."

His heart fluttered. He knew that was the realistic truth, but it was nice to hear reassurance from you anyways.

"You mean it?" he asked.

"I mean it," you said sincerely.

Setting your bags and drink on the nearby bench, you swept him into your arms and twirled him around beneath the streetlight's warm glow.

"I love you," you declared, hands holding his face tightly. Your thumb brushed against the beauty mark above his lip. "And if you ever need reminders of that, you tell me immediately. I will literally drop everything and make sure your doubt disappears completely for as long as I can hold it back."

He gazed into your eyes, his own now slightly misted. Their glossiness reflected warmth and adoration as he took in your face. Seeing the conviction there did something to him. He didn't know what, but he found himself giving in to the urge to just close the distance and kiss you right then and there, open street be damned.

It began to snow. He only realized when he parted from you, the taste of your chapstick still lingering. He looked up, watching the delicate flakes be illuminated by the warm, golden glow. If there was a visualization for the love he felt, it would be that he decided. It all just built and built from all the little things, and filled him with such life it almost hurt.

"We should go home," he whispered, looking back at you.

"Oh yeah, we should. I was going to tell you!" you gasped, running back for your drink and the bag. "They gave me extra cakes and rolls. The last ones of the specialty desserts before their next seasonal delights, so we can share them." you beamed.

"Really? That's quite generous of them."

He wasn't surprised. You were just so damn lovable. He would give you all the baked goods you desired and more, if only for another smile from you directed at him. His fingers intertwined with yours, fondness consuming him as you chatted about the different flavors of the desserts, which ones you were most excited about, and which ones you think he'd like.

He had to agree with your assessments. A dark chocolate and orange mousse did sound quite appealing for him. He already knew he'd let you have the last bite, regardless.

"Oh, and Viktor?"

"Hmm?"

"You can throw away the contact. I don't need it."

I already have you.

[dont-look-its-embarrassing]

To Be Seen

Azriel x Reader

This is my first ever one-shot or fanfiction type writing on here, so be patient with me bc it will be FAR from perfect or good.

This is purely self-indulgent bc again, I'm new at this and just wanted to write an insert or y/n type little blurb.

Summary; Being the best friend of Feyre when she was human, you regretfully got roped in and turned with her sisters as a tool for manipulation by Hybern. As the sister's find it hard to settle in claiming the attention of the two other bats, you attempt to make Feyre's and the inner court's life easier by flying under the radar and figuring it out on your own. However, are you really as unnoticed as you hope or is a certain shadowsinger entrapped by your caring and soft nature as his heart battles his mind for the third sister or you.

Warnings: None really, mentions of PTSD and anxiety, loneliness and self-help, slow-burn, slight angst with a fluffy ending, reader just wants to be seen but feels like she can't ask

Word count: 2,389

Pt2

The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you sat in the drawing room in the house of wind. The gentle crackle of the fire Infront of you allowed your body to sit comfortably within the rather cold season and the book you were just reading sat loose in your lap. You haven't gotten used to your enhanced hearing yet as your now longer and thicker hair gently fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear.

"Y/n?" Your best friend's voice echoed into the room as her footsteps followed. A soft smile spread across your features as she came in, confirmed you where there, and plopped down ungraciously on the couch next to you. "Thank the mother you are here."

Her features where stressed, the worry written all over her face as she took your form in.

"What's going on?" You ask, hopeful to help.

Feyre let out a sigh as she let her eyes wonder to the fire Infront of the both of you.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, it seems that everything I do to try and help Nesta and Elaine seems to only make things worse." She rung her hands, a trait she picked up back in the human lands when she was nervous or upset. "It just never seems enough to make them comfortable or to try and apologize for everything that happened."

Your best friend's eyes slightly widened as she took her gaze from the flames.

"How are you? Are you doing okay?" The genuine care and concern oozing off of the female Infront of you reminded you of why you cared so much about your friend in the first place. When she was taken, you had searched high and low for her in hopes to get her back only to have her return happy and healthy with a loving man, or male, doting on her every need. You were ecstatic, and expressed yourself as so, even if it was with fae beings. When you and her sisters were taken, that happiness was put on hold to make sure that you are all where comfortable. Feyre's self-sacrificing nature did always drive you mad, even now when she was so close to being truly happy.

"I'm okay Feyre." She shot you a look, trying to dig deeper and call the bluff you made. "Seriously, I'm here with you and in an amazing place that I could only dream of with great people."

"A lot happened Y/n. A lot happened to Elaine and Nesta, but a lot happened to you." She was right, and it was weird for you to be so put together when the worlds of the other two were falling to pieces. With your more emotional and strong relationship with Feyre, you had been held captive with her sisters yes, but you also took the brunt of interrogation that the wicked king deemed necessary to gain any information of her court. You had put yourself in that position, you knew how awful she would feel about her familial blood being brutalized in such a way, so you took the heat. But, in the end, her sisters still took the change harder and refused to accept their new life, making everyone on edge and overexerting themselves to help.

With one look at your best friend's-tired eyes, you knew that she couldn't handle another burden. More like she shouldn't have to handle another burden.

The word tasted sour on your tongue.

Burden.

Shaking your head a small gentle smile graced your face, and you forced your features to emulate that same energy.

"I'm okay Feyre, really. Aside from some cool new power thing that I haven't figured out, I'm fine. " The breath she released could only register as relief in your mind as she met your smile.

"Okay, and we will definitely start working on that when we are all settled here." Her reassurance did little to reassure that it would be investigated. Again, with the two sisters gaining war altering abilities, your random energy (that had yet to manifest) would be put on the back burner until everyone else was settled. Again, the slight dismissal ached, but you understood the need for others to take precedence.

Giving a little nod, you two sit in silence for a bit just listening to the crackling of the fire and enjoying each other's presence. That is, until a wince rippled across your friends face and she slowly rose.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I think Elaine is out and not talking to Lucien and it's a mess-"

"It's fine Feyre, go make sure they are okay." You assure with the same smile. Giving one last 'thank you, I love you' she was gone like the wind that howled outside the windows. The silence that followed her exit had the ringing in your ears become a bit to unbearable. Removing yourself from the couch, you travel down to your room and grab a quick change of footwear.

Today would be a good day to explore the town, or at least good enough to get your mind out of the dark slump of trying to acclimate to its' new body and abilities.

Making your way towards the door, a small flicker of shadow catches your eye.

"Hello?" You call. You know that Rhys is most likely with Feyre and Azriel is also probably there because of Elaine, so you dismiss it quickly after a moment, chalking it up to just a trick of the light.

Opening the door, the slight chill on the wind has a shiver run through you, but the sun quickly chased it away. Breathing a sigh, you look at the vastness of the stairs below you.

No time like the present.

Taking one step at a time and avid breaks when needed, you would rather not admit to yourself just how much time that trek took. However, upon reaching the bottom, the satisfaction that filled you outweighed the journey. Walking down the streets of Velaris, the bustling normality of the people filled you with ease. As your heels clicked against the stones below, your gaze just missed the little shadow that trailed behind your body.

Taking in the colors and vibrant people, the ease and happiness that covered their faces had the ache in your gut grow more and more. Your mind wandered to if you would ever be that happy and mundane. With everything that had happened so far, the familiar life in the human forest (although had its struggles) seemed like an ideal. It was the lack of routine, lack of knowledge, the newly sprouted life, the misplacement, all of it plus more. You didn't notice your breathing gain more weight and take longer to fill your lungs than it did at the house. You also didn't notice the little skitter of the shadow that had followed you as it raced away towards some unseen location. The heat in your body seemed to increase as the sight of a simple family loving and walking together entered your mind.

Would anyone love you like this?

You couldn't think.

Ducking into a nearby ally, the overhead sheets and covering allowed it to be shaded and darker than the streets 20 feet away. Even then, the darkness of the ally seemed to illuminate with your presence there. However, it wasn't the light, it was the lack of grasp of oxygen you could inhale and the strenuous shaking your body couldn't stop. The tears that fell without your knowledge burned their tracks into your skin and sizzled as they hit the ground. Your body gave way to the spasms that took ahold of you as your mind raced. Burring your head into your knees, you attempted to shut the world out and let your mind slow but to no avail. You wished the darkness of the alley would swallow you whole, allow the sun and light to escape you being seen just this once.

Almost as if your prayers where in fact answered, the light surrounding you died as the darkness of the ally surrounded you. Picking your head up to view what cloud or magical being answered your plea, your eyes were met with those of hazel crouching Infront of you.

"Azriel?" You hadn't met this male for more than a couple days ago. He was nice, offering to go with you places or chat every so often. You had a couple nightly talks with him where you shared some stories between the two of you. Nothing out of the ordinary though, you felt safe around him when he was near. Confusion washed your features and for a moment your brain stopped running in circles and focused on why the male might be in front of you in this very unfortunate situation.

"You're okay." His large hands had gently pried your head from between your own. He Slowly, as if not to spook you further, reached for your hands and took them in his own. As twisted as it sounded, the morbid scarring that littered his skin grounded you further and pulled you back to this moment and out of that forsaken cell and cold water. "Focus on me, breathe."

The ease of your breath returned as the seeming dark cloud that surrounded you peeled back revealing that same dampened alleyway. However, the slight char on the walls and burns on the ground was distinct enough to question. Looking around, more of those marks surrounded you but faded as it got further from you. Opening your mouth to ask, a quick look from the male had you hesitant as he shook his head.

"One thing at a time sunshine." You nod, ignoring the small butterfly that hatched in your stomach at the nickname, but the pain in your head from the little outburst brought you back to reality. Bringing your hand up to caress the muscle between your eyes, Azriel scanned you from head to toe checking for any other possible injuries. "Let's get you back to the house, okay? Have Madja take a look at you and maybe give you something to help process."

Although the beginning of his statement was directed at you, for an answer, the second part was mumbled more to himself.

"Okay." The short response was all you could get past your lips as he sent you a small smile and opened his arms.

Looking at him questionably, he held back a chuckle.

"Have you never flown?" Shaking your head, no, you had never flown before. Winnowed? Yes, but never in the arms of one of the three males residing in the same house at you. The aspect of Azriel being your first had a little flush cover your cheeks. He approached you carefully, scanning your eyes for any aversion to being touched or space invaded. If you didn't just have a literally breakdown in the middle of Velaris, you could've sworn there was a deeper emotion residing in his eyes.

Guilt?

Worry?

Longing?

You couldn't place it and decided not to keep the process waiting. Taking a step towards him, he kept his arms spread out to accompany your space against his.

"Wrap your arms around me." His voice was lowered with your closer proximity. Slowly you brought your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. He waited until you settled there before moving to hoist you up into his arms and walk slightly out of the alley to give his wings more room to take flight.

While doing so, you couldn't help but settle into his warmth as it felt nice against our colder frame. With all the adrenaline wearing off, you were left shivering.

"Make sure to hold on." He noted, which was all the notice you got before suddenly you two were no longer on the ground. Tightening your grip instinctually, you shut your eyes as you could practically feel the male smile at your nature.

"How did you get down there anyway?" With the loud wind it was hard to hear, but again due to the lack of space between the two of you his voice rang clear.

"I walked."

"Down those?" Without realizing the easygoing atmosphere he created, you had peered open your eyes to look down at the stairs you both were currently soaring over. Only a brief look however as you still had some human tendencies and did have a slight aversion to heights.

"Yeah." You nodded and went to shut your eyes once more to finish out the flight, but as you did you caught sight of a new look on the spymaster's face.

Pride.

Landing as softly as possible, Madja was already there waiting for the two of you to arrive. Without thinking, you blamed it on the spymaster's shadows (but grateful they were there). Feyre also stood to the side of her, worry wringing her hands again and you let out a sigh of defeat.

Stumbling out of Azriel's arms, he steadied you, giving a once over before his high lady had shot him an inquiring look. She looked at you shortly after.

"You are never to lie to me again Y/n, you hear?" Her chastising voice was filled with love and worry all the same.

But before you could open your mouth to respond with a thousand reasons why you might, a certain male beat you too it.

"Don't go too hard on her, admittedly we have all been a bit busy to check in." You both glanced back at the male in question as his shadows wrapped around him in song. He has said it was so to promise his attention to fix the problem, which warmed your core.

"She will be okay Feyre." Meeting eye contact with him, he had sent you a small nod of his head and smile before disappearing into the dark.

Your best friend looked at you in question, but a deeper thought was spinning in her head. However, the little throat clear of the healer nearby jumpstarted the next 24 hours of care and therapy from your best friend and the best healers in Prythian. The whole endeavor couldn't tear your thoughts to a certain inner court male and the way his arms felt around you.

Maybe you would be okay.